Snapshots: The Reach of Frost
by ramblingonandon
Summary: Aramis goes for a simple training assignment that was anything but. AKA the Savoy fic set in Snapshots 'verse
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello people! In case anyone was wondering I did not fall off the face of the earth but was actually stuck with exams. I was reading, writing and reviewing – just not the fun sort. So here's another installment in this AU.**

 **Apologies beforehand if the story turns out not being up to par because I'm quite rusty; been away from this 'Verse and generally creative creating for a while. So bear with me please. Updates for this one might be slow too.**

 **A general warning for the possible inaccuracies of medical, police and military procedures.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable here, not making any money either.**

* * *

" _ **All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost." – J.R.R Tolkien [The Fellowship of the Ring] **_

* * *

He jiggled his leg; glanced down at the round face of the watch on his wrist before the dark eyes turned to glance in the rearview mirror. The car's rear window had fogged up. Porthos glanced back at the plastic container with the bright green lid sitting on the seat beside him and resisted the urge to call Athos – again.

The last time he had checked up on him the man had not been happy to be sent on a coffee run at six in the morning. Zipping close his jacket Porthos grabbed the plastic box and stepped out into the cold morning. The sharp chill had numbed his nose by the time he had rounded the car and walked up the front of the building where he stopped at the sound of the approaching car.

A smile broke on his face as the car stopped behind his own and his friend emerged, buttoned up to his neck in a black coat and looking like a solid shadow carrying the precious cargo it had been sent to retrieve. Blue eyes narrowed at his grin before the man stuffed his free hand deeper into his coat pocket.

"This was a bad idea," Athos said.

"It was your idea,"

"An oversight on my part,"

Porthos grinned wider even as he shook his head and followed his friend into the building. Taking two stairs at a time he overtook the other man and stopping a step above him rounded on his friend, pinning him with an accusatory jab of his finger.

"Admit it; you momentarily lost your mind in your excitement,"

"More likely I lost my mind due to the sleepless nights and horrendous work load," Athos said.

Porthos had to admit that the workload had been bad, their latest assignment had been a draining stretch but at least it would end today. He shrugged, feeling lighter for the thought. That and the fact that he had been itching to call their friend ever since he had heard the news that had brought them here at this hour.

"I was the one who had to go home past midnight and stay up baking," he said.

"You were the one nice and warm in your kitchen working near a hot oven;" Athos said as he moved past him and further up in the quiet stairwell.

Porthos chuckled at the prickly tone.

"You were not the one out on the streets in the cold," Athos tossed over his shoulder.

"You were in a car,"

"Searching for our friend's favorite coffee fix in the pre-dawn hours,"

"At six in the morning,"

"Reaching the coffee shop before even the baristas get there,"

"I'm sure they were opening up when you got there," Porthos rolled his eyes.

Athos raised an eyebrow and gave him a particularly unimpressed look as they stopped before the door of their friend's flat. Porthos looked from the door to the Styrofoam cups in Athos grasp, one of which was the signature chocolate blend from that colorful coffee shop Aramis loved. He looked his friend in the eye even as he felt a smile curl up on his face.

"It's worth it," Porthos said.

"Obviously,"

The bland tone of his voice did nothing to hide the fond amusement in Athos' eyes. Porthos nodded as he fished out the key to Aramis' flat, glad once again that they shared a set for all three residences between them.

The sound of the door closing behind them was no more than a whisper and Porthos felt all of ten years old as Athos pressed a finger to his own lips in the reprimand to shush. Stifling the laughter bubbling in his gut he motioned for his friend to follow and nodded to Athos as they came to a stop on either side of the closed door of Aramis' bedroom.

Turning the knob gently Porthos toed the door open. The room was mutely lit with the soft glow of the winter morning that the curtains hadn't been successful in completely blocking out. And there, with his back to the wall and face to the door was Aramis. The dark eyes were open, alert as they looked to Porthos and then at Athos and clearly deciding that the intruders were not worth the attention the man pulled the blanket over his head and rolled over.

"Is that any way to greet the friends who bring you breakfast in bed?" Porthos demanded loudly.

He marched in and poked the lump on the bed as Athos pulled the curtains open all the way. Picking up the pen on the bedside table Porthos stabbed the covers; stabbed it harder when there was no reaction the first time.

"C'mon up you get,"

Aramis stuck out a hand and sent him a rude gesture for his efforts.

Athos rolled his eyes and pulling out the extra pillow smacked it hard against the blanket covered head.

"Up,"

"G' away," came the whine from under the covers.

"Get up,"

"S' too early…."

Porthos caught Athos' glance, grinned at the wicked gleam there and nodded. Grabbing the vaguely leg shaped swell in the blankets they pulled their friend off the bed covers and all. Aramis cursed roundly as he landed on the floor with a hard thump.

"Bloody sadists," Aramis hissed.

He sat up rubbing his elbows and gathered the blankets over his lap. Aramis pulled the edge of the covers around his shoulders and glared up at them. Porthos mussed the already bedraggled curls and dodged back from the retaliating swats. Athos smirked.

"Good morning to you too sunshine," he said.

"Don't you have a Captain to report to?"

"He said we could come in late today,"

"Oh joy,"

Porthos snorted at the dry tone even as Athos lightly kicked the pile of blankets. Aramis scowled as he slapped at the boot clad foot in his vicinity. Hunkering down in his pile of covers he gave jaw cracking yawn.

"We come bearing cupcakes," Porthos said.

That caught Aramis' attention. He craned his neck to get a better look at the plastic box in Porthos' hand, looking much like an eager emu with his hair wild and sleep soft eyes that had widened in interest. Letting go of the blanket he had wrapped around himself Aramis reached out and wriggled his fingers.

"Gimme,"

"Eloquent as ever," said Athos.

Porthos gave the box to his friend as he flopped down at his side. Athos draped his coat over the chair by the desk and dropped to sit on Aramis' other side. Carefully he set the cups on the floor. Picking out one, he handed it to their friend who had already bitten off half a cupcake.

Porthos watched Aramis' eyes grow round as he stared at the Styrofoam cup in his hand, gaze fixed onto the name that told him his coffee came from halfway across the city. He looked from Porthos to Athos and swallowed the chunk of cupcake with some difficulty.

"Am I dying?" he asked.

Porthos smacked him on the back of the head none too lightly, feeling just a twinge of guilt when the man erupted in a cough. Athos rolled his eyes even as he rescued the coffee from Aramis' grasp.

"Not unless asphyxiation by baked goods is the way you want to go," he said.

"Hey my cupcakes are worth dying for," Porthos said.

He threw an arm around Aramis' shoulders and pulled the man close, not really surprised when his brother took it as an invitation to lean all his weight against him.

"But no, you're not dying. We have some great news." He added.

"It seems the Captain wasn't happy with your interwove but for some reason he was impressed by your skills," Athos said and failed to keep the smile at bay, "You're hired."

Aramis straightened.

"We have it in writing and all," Porthos said.

A grin curled on his friend's face as his eyes fell on the plain white envelope that Porthos produced from inside his jacket. The big man pulled it back just as Athos grabbed Aramis' hand that has been reaching for the appointment letter.

"What?" Aramis asked.

Porthos chuckled and Athos shook his head.

"Sticky fingers," they said in unison.

"I knew that,"

"Sure," Porthos said.

He gave the letter to Athos who placed it on the bedside table, away from potential stains from eager hands.

"You'll have to come down to sign the rest of the papers," Athos said, "as soon as you can that is,"

Aramis tore his eyes away from the envelope set out of his reach and frowned slightly.

"I'll be heading out at five in the morning tomorrow. I thought I told him about the training exercise,"

"The camping trip?" Porthos asked, "Got your woolens in order have you?"

Aramis glared at him but Porthos grinned unrepentant. They had each been to the front lines, a four day trip to some secluded forest in the middle of frozen nowhere was hardly something daunting.

"SAVOY is not a camping trip. It's a Strategic Adaptability Variations Operation," his friend said, with his back straight and nose in the air, "Marsac and I will be in the lead for this one, and yes," he smiled, "I have my woolens in order."

"As fascinating as that is I think you had better call the Captain and confirm," Athos said.

He sipped his coffee and nodded to the duffel bag sitting by the door of the bedroom. A long case was leaning against the wall beside it, one that they all knew carried Aramis' sniper rifle.

"You're taking it with you?"

"I was actually hoping one of you would keep her safe for me," Aramis said, "the rest I've locked in the safe but Venus needs her space."

Porthos stifled a groan and shook his head at the sad state of affairs. His mind went to the motorcycle that was his friend's mode of transportation and wondered why he had ever assumed that the naming of inanimate objects would end there.

"I thought Mercury was bad enough," he spoke of the two wheeled menace that he wished his friend would stop using, "But Venus?"

"That one is temperamental; this one is balance. And since you insulted her you will be the one taking care of her," Aramis said, "I'll bring her along for dinner tonight,"

Porthos wanted to argue but it dawned on him that he had to pick up the ingredients for the homemade pizza he had promised these two for tonight. He would have his revenge by leaving as many dishes as he could for them to clean after. He took a drink of his coffee to hide the smirk but something niggled at the back of his mind.

"Not taking any weapons at all?" he asked.

"One blade each," Aramis shrugged, "It's a secure location we're told,"

"I don't like it," Athos said.

Porthos shifted where he sat and ignored the trickle of cold down his spine that the declaration had left him with. He caught Athos' blue eyes over their friend sitting between them and hoped that his own smile was much more reassuring than he felt at the moment.

"Like I said; a camping trip," he smiled and wrapped his free arm around Aramis' shoulders, "this time next week we'll all be at the office and wishing we can take a vacation like that."

The silence that followed was unexpected. Porthos gave Aramis a little shake, eyes narrowing slightly at his friend's gaze that was fixed on the half eaten cupcake in his hand. The shoulders under Porthos' arm shook slightly as Aramis' quiet laugh bubbled forth and Porthos felt his own excitement swell in his chest. He knew exactly where his friend's mind had gone; so many times during their school years had they planned their future and so many times had they tried to find a middle ground for their diverse interests.

"You do know what this means right?" Aramis looked from him to Athos and shook his head slowly, "Can't believe it actually happened."

"Except that Athos is not a lawyer, you are not a doctor and I'm not a professional sportsman," Porthos said.

"And we certainly won't be living in a tree-house designed out of some sci-fi story," Athos added.

"Not a big fan of tree climbing anyway," Porthos shrugged.

"And the plumbing would be a nightmare," Athos nodded.

"But we'll be working together," Aramis grinned.

Athos smirked and raised the cupcake in his hand.

"To us," he said.

"To dreams turning real; sort of," Porthos said as he added his own baked treat.

Aramis' grin was alight in his eyes as his half eaten breakfast joined theirs in the air.

"To family," he said.

* * *

Two weeks into this mess and he still couldn't wrap his mind around how a simple security assignment of a jewelry collection for private viewing had landed them on the trail of a ring of thieves. It had gone from security detail to retrieval to investigation to guarding a potential witness on the way to the police.

Sometimes Athos wondered if fate enjoyed toying with them.

"I don't understand why I'm supposed to be the one risking my life for this," Rochefort said.

And sometimes Athos believed whole heartedly that it did.

"Will you be whining all the way?" Flea asked from where she was perched on the table edge.

"It's his default setting you know that," Charon grinned, "think if we ask the Captain nicely he will switch a member from this new team?"

"I vote we get Porthos!" Flea said.

"I'm sticking with this one," the man in question pointed at Athos, "and we'll be getting our own third to make our own team thank you very much."

Athos ignored the very vocal disappointment from the petite blonde as she pulled a knit cap snug on Rochefort's head. It belonged to Mr. Glovere, the ex-convict they had traced and convinced to speak up against the people he had taken a fall for years ago. Out of all of them Rochefort was the only one with the built closest to the old man they were protecting and Athos couldn't deny the perverse pleasure he felt every time he saw the other man scowl at that fact.

"Are you sure this will work?" Mr. Glovere asked.

"It is the best option we have," Athos said, "if they are watching the house it would draw them away from you."

"And towards us," Rochefort frowned, "I'll be the one they'll target."

"And we shall mourn you if they succeed," Flea grinned.

She hopped down to her feet, grabbed onto Rochefort's arm and began guiding him to the main door; Charon quickly took up the other side as they exited. The lock clicked after them and Athos turned to his friend who was still staring at the door. He knew that Porthos was good friends with Flea and Charon and even if they disliked Rochefort, none of them wanted to see the man dead.

"They'll be fine," Athos said.

"They better be,"

Mr. Glovere twitched at the soft growl and turned a wary gaze towards Porthos. The big man motioned with his head to move to the back of the house and they waited fifteen minutes before exiting out the side door. They moved out to the sidewalk and strolled over to the end of the street where Porthos had parked his car. Athos forced his mind away from the innocent emptiness of the street that he hadn't noticed upon their arrival, it was all he could do to not look around for some shadowy figure lurking behind a tree or a fence.

He let go a soft breath of relief as he settled in the car beside Porthos; buckled in as his friend started the car even as Mr. Glovere slid into the backseat. The old man cast a glance behind them as they pulled away from the curb and flashed a grin at Athos.

"Looks like it was all for nothing," he said.

"Let's hope so," Athos turned his eyes back to the road.

He felt the knot in his stomach ease when his mobile phone buzzed and Flea's voice filtered through the moment he received the call. They were nearing the rendezvous point, were almost out of the residential area and Athos was still listening to Flea when the van appeared in the side view mirror.

"Porthos…"

"I see them,"

Athos wanted to hope that it was his paranoia projected on some innocent family out for a drive but his instincts told him otherwise. Even if the van tailed them at an even speed he still asked Flea to meet them halfway; they were ten minutes away from each other and Athos had a feeling they would need backup sooner than that.

He glanced at his friend as their car picked up speed

"Brace yourselves!" Porthos said over the whine of the engine.

They turned along the curb at speed as the van pulled next to them. Athos' hand went to his weapon even as the bang of metal against metal reverberated through the car. Their attackers pinned them against the sidewalk and the screech of tires gave way to a harsh jolt as their car went over the footpath.

Porthos voice filled the air with curses as the world careened wildly and they squeezed past the van.

The hit to the back of the car nearly sent him face first into the dashboard and Athos hissed as the seatbelt cut into him. He pulled himself up as another hit spun the world around him, the moment stretching like spilled paint until it stopped with a smack of white to his face.

His jaw hurt and his lips stung.

Athos blinked to clear the water from his eyes as the deceptively silky material fell away from his throbbing face. He squinted against the blur in his view and pulled his eyes away from the tree bark that was too close to the windscreen in front of him.

"Porthos?" he turned to the man at his side.

The big man was slumped forwards and Athos unlocked his seatbelt in a hurry to reach his friend. Relief melted his bones when he felt the steady thump under his fingers that were pressed to Porthos' neck.

"Wha –' " his friend came around under his touch.

He was about to help Porthos sit back against the seat when the back door of the car swung open. Mr. Glovere screamed as he was dragged out onto the road. Athos shoved against his own door, cursed under his breath when it refused to open and scrambled to push through the gap between the front seats to get in the back. By the time his boots hit the road the van was pulling away.

Athos watched the vehicle disappear around the bend they had left behind and wondered if Mr. Glovere would live to see another day. Bile rose at the thought of being the ones who had dragged the man into the crosshairs and it was all he could do to tamp down the desire to kick something.

"…thos?"

He hurried back the way he had exited the car and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Don't move, just stay put –" his eyes traced over the darkening patch at the side of Porthos' head, the swelling was already setting in.

"Mr. Glovere?" Porthos peered at him.

"They took him,"

"Damn,"

"Precisely,"

He looked out at the sound of a car stopping and watched Charon get out with his phone stuck to his ear. Athos couldn't believe he hadn't thought of calling for the ambulance and grimaced right along with Porthos when Flea rapped against the passenger side door.

This day was turning nothing like he had hoped for.

* * *

He pulled off the helmet and tucked it under his arm as the doors to the emergency wing hissed open. Dark eyes scanned the waiting area before Aramis headed for the corridor where the examination rooms were, vaguely noticing how little the hospital had change since he had been a student here. He turned the corner and immediately zeroed in on the man sitting in one of the blue plastic chairs lining the hallway.

Porthos sat rigid, with the back of his head resting against the wall and Aramis didn't miss the relief in Athos' eyes when the man looked up from where he stood observing their ailing friend. Patting Athos on the shoulder he crouched down before Porthos and laid a hand on his knee.

"Shouldn't you be inside with a doctor?" Aramis asked quietly.

Porthos opened bleary eyes to glare at him.

" 'm fine,"

"A mild concussion, the doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation." Athos said.

" 'm not stayin,"

He never did. Aramis nodded as he eyed the dark bruise to the side of Porthos head, fingers ghosting over the heated skin before he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Aramis pushed to his feet and felt his eyebrows rise at the sight of Athos before him. The slight swelling was more visible at this distance and the split lip was bright and puffy.

"So what exactly happened here?" he asked.

Athos flinched as Aramis reached forward and tilted his face gently towards the light. As his friend explained how Porthos had been forced to drive off the road and hit a tree, Aramis examined the bruise along Athos' jaw that was visible from under the beard.

"Please tell me you have someone going after them," he said.

"We will find them," Athos told him.

"So that is a no,"

"For now,"

Aramis grit his teeth and bit back the anger spiking at the thought of the men responsible getting away. Reminding himself that it was not his friend's fault he instead asked if they were good to leave. Athos turned and nodded towards the doctor who had his back towards them where he stood by the nurses' station.

"He wasn't happy but I told him we had someone relatively trained for this at home," Athos said, "he was supposed to be getting the discharge papers."

Aramis observed the tall figure that was in deep conversation with the woman dressed in a pristine suit and holding a little girl in her arms. He glanced back at Porthos who had crossed his arms before him and hoped that the doctor would hurry up. The constant white noise of the hospital was grating for the headache he could see in the crease between his friend's furrowed brows.

"Aramis?"

That voice he hadn't heard in years.

He looked up at the approaching doctor and couldn't stop the grin from curling up on his face. The man had grown more angular, thinner than the last time they had seen each other years ago but the dark eyes that met his were sharp as ever.

"George Lemay," Aramis grinned.

It was met with the sour look that this man had always regarded him with but something warm unfurled in Aramis' chest when the doctor shook hands with a vigor matching his own.

"Doctor Lemay," he corrected.

"Always so proper Georgie,"

"It's George," snapped the man.

But the woman beside him smiled and stepped forward to shake hands with Aramis.

"Sophie," she said, "Georgie's wife, this is our daughter Beth."

Completely ignoring the irritated tsk from her husband she looked from the doctor to Aramis, who was crossing his eyes at the giggling little one in the woman's arms.

"You're the Aramis? The one El talks about?"

As much as it was fun to tease Lemay, Aramis couldn't help but glance at the man at the mention of his little sister. She had been the reason their hostility had turned to friendship after all even if the circumstances weren't good at the time.

"Yes Sophie this Aramis," Doctor Lemay said, "no need to inflate his ego."

"How is El?" Aramis asked.

"She's a teacher now and happily engaged to be married," the dark eyes softened and there was almost a hint of smile on the doctor's face, "nothing keeps her from going to the range once a week though,"

"She has a gift,"

"That will someday cost her a limb,"

Aramis laughed.

"That was you actually, shooting your own foot,"

"At least I get to keep the proof of your horrible suturing."

Aramis rolled his eyes and waved away the jibe at his skills. He nodded towards his friends who had been staring at the side of his head in blatant curiosity. More than half the time that George Lemay had been a part of his life had been during the time his friends had taken up radio-silence and the last year of his student life with the doctor had been an emotional rollercoaster. The crash and burn after that hadn't spared them a moment to swap stories among the three of them so Aramis was not surprised by the waves of snooping interest he could feel coming from his friends.

"My friends Athos and Porthos here; are they free to go?" he asked.

Doctor Lemay looked down at the papers in his grasp and then back at the two men. Aramis caught the glint in his eyes when they met his own. Of course anyone in his life would know about the two men who were his brothers in everything but blood.

"I've heard a lot about you," Lemay said, "imagined you two to be bigger somehow,"

Athos' eyebrows reached up to his hairline and even Porthos sat forwards.

"I assure you we hadn't meant to disappoint." Athos said.

"No, you never did," Lemay nodded.

Aramis bit back a wince. He had forgotten that Lemay blamed these men for the eventual change in his career. Although he hadn't met them, the doctor hadn't been happy with Athos and Porthos when last he had met Aramis.

"Well I have to be heading out," Sophie spoke up; she turned to her husband and deposited the child in his arms, "El said she will pick Beth up in an hour. It was nice to meet you Aramis, you should come over sometimes."

Aramis could only smile and nod as Sophie departed and he silently thanked her quick intervention. Because it left the doctor focused on his daughter and he readily handed the papers to Aramis.

"I shouldn't have to remind you this but keep an eye on him," Lemay nodded towards Porthos, "Mildly concussed is still concussed."

"Of course," Aramis shook hands with the man, "I'll see you around and you too Beth,"

He was surprised when Lemay grasped his forearm before he could pull away.

"You know where I work and where I live," said the man before he turned away.

He was still wondering about the invitation when Porthos cleared his throat from where he sat. Feeling unreasonably like a guilty child Aramis turned to his friends with a shrug. He went over to Porthos and helped the man up to his feet.

"When my head isn't trying to kill me, I'd like to know about this Lemay," said his friend.

"And why does he looks at us like we've insulted him," Athos added.

"Until then I'll be taking this one home," Aramis said.

He steadied Porthos where he stood swaying a little and handed his helmet and keys to Athos. They would be taking a taxi.

"Go home to mine," Athos said, "I'll ask Flea to bring Mercury there."

Aramis nodded, Athos was the only one who lived on the ground floor. It would be better for Porthos' nausea to avoid stairs and elevators. He was surprised when it was Porthos who groaned in protest at the idea.

"I was gonna bake a pizza for us tonight,"

"You can do that when I get back from SAVOY," Aramis assured him, "that would be something to look forward to."

* * *

He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the computer screen. The police had not been happy at the loss of a potential witness that could have been their way in into the jewelry thieves that had apparently left there footprints all over Europe. Athos filtered through the news on the internet, refreshing the page every five minutes to see if any hint of the Mr. Glovere's whereabouts would come his way. He hoped the man would not end up dead but a large part of him was skeptical.

He looked up when the door to the Captain's office opened and the visitor who had been in there for two hours walked out. The broad shouldered man with blue eyes and graying hair marched down the stairs and out towards the lobby. Athos looked back up at the Captain where he stood in the doorway of his office, face pinched in concentration.

The Captain's gaze flicked his way and Athos pushed to his feet. He refreshed the web pages one more time but found nothing new. Plucking the printouts from the machine next to the wall, Athos made his way up to the Captain. He followed the man inside his office and closed the door behind him.

"A new client?" he asked.

"Victor is the son of an old acquaintance," the Captain said, "he had something personal to discuss. Now what do you have on Mr. Glovere?"

Athos placed his report on the desk and the pitiably small list he had come up with.

"His wife remarried a month after the divorce was finalized and he hadn't been in contact with his children for over a decade. The only one he visits is his brother in the nursing home but I doubt they will contact him for any ransom if they are inclined to do so."

"You think the man is as good as dead," it was not a question from Captain Treville.

"He has information about them and is willing to share it with the authorities," Athos said.

His jaw hurt and he clenched it tighter, the pain a welcome distraction from the guilt gnawing at him. Captain Treville sighed as he sat in his chair and ran a critical eye over his agent. Athos could read the worry for him in the older man's eyes.

"Your friend came down to the office this morning," said the Captain, "seemed eager to join us here."

Athos gaze softened despite himself.

"It has been a long time coming," he said.

Captain Treville pulled the list closer and nodded. He laid it over the pile of files at his side and called Serge to take up the job of tracing the news that Athos had been doing. Placing the receiver back he started up his laptop and raised a brow at Athos.

"Go on," he said, "go home; we can handle the monitoring."

Athos did not need to be told twice.

He quickly singed off and headed for his car in the basement. His first stop was to check on Porthos' car at the mechanics and by the time he had extracted all the relevant information concerning the damaged vehicle there was a steady thrum of headache building behind his eyes. Night had set in completely when Athos parked his car behind Aramis' motorcycle and trudged up to the main door.

Silent warmth and dimmed lights greeted him as he entered and locked the door after him. Hanging his coat by the door and toeing off his boots Athos padded into the living room to find Porthos asleep on the sofa. He turned instead towards the kitchen area, the only place that was lit up in his home. Athos sniffed the air as his stomach reminded him of his lack of food consumption.

"The leftovers had evolved into living organisms and taken your fridge as hostage," Aramis did not look up from where he was stirring the sauce, a boiling pot of pasta bubbling happily next to it, "negotiation was futile."

Athos looked into the said appliance and groaned at the surprisingly airy interior.

"You threw out everything,"

"It was turning toxic,"

Athos gave one last baleful look at the empty shelves and closed the door of the refrigerator.

"I had fresh juice in there and yoghurt,"

"The yoghurt was turning into cheese,"

"I had it this morning!"

The wooden spoon turned in his direction like a dagger and Aramis' eyes narrowed at him.

"Alright, I tried it this morning and had meant to throw it out,"

Aramis nodded and shut off the heat under the sauce. Athos went to his room for a change of clothes and came back to set the table. He knew his friend wanted to know if the men responsible of the accident were apprehended and appreciated the restraint that would mean he would have to explain everything only once. It was something that was addressed the moment Porthos had settled in at table.

He frowned as Athos laid out all his findings, or lack thereof.

"So no lead on them whatsoever," Porthos said.

"Detective Leon is working on the case; he said he would call if something turns up,"

"When," Aramis said.

Athos shrugged a shoulder.

"I don't know when,"

"I meant when something turns up, not if,"

Porthos stopped pushing the food around in his plate and grinned.

"Always hoping eh?"

"Someone has to," Aramis said, "and quit mashing the pasta, just eat it already."

Porthos stabbed a piece of chicken and raised it to eye level.

"Is this from Athos' fridge?" he asked, "because I need to know if I'm consuming mutated poultry."

Athos rolled his eyes even as Aramis raised his fork in solemn oath that he hadn't let any suspicious creature from Athos' fridge close to the food they were eating. It still didn't stop Porthos from catapulting the piece of chicken at Aramis.

Athos looked away from the football rerun and glanced at the wall clock when Aramis decided to head home. It was nearing midnight and Athos looked to the form slumped on his sofa. He found it strangely reassuring that Porthos didn't even pretend to consider that he should be doing the same. The big man simply stood up and grabbed Aramis in a bear hug, promising to bake him a pizza when he got home.

"And try not to get hit on your head while I'm gone," Aramis said.

He pushed his friend to sit back down and guided him to lie on his side on the sofa.

"Got a hard head," Porthos muttered.

"No need to keep testing it," Athos reminded him.

He looked to Aramis and felt the corner of his own lips turning up at the smile he found there. With a shake of his head he grabbed the blanket that had landed on the floor and draped it over their friend as Aramis stepped back. Making sure that Porthos was comfortable and halfway asleep, he followed Aramis out into the night.

As he neared the road a tremble coursed through his body that had nothing to do with the cold. An inexplicable tightness in his chest had him reaching out to grab his friend's arm; an absurd fear that the night will snatch his friend away curled in his gut. Dark eyes turned to him with expectation and Athos suddenly found the words stuck to his throat.

"Be careful out there," he said.

Aramis' gaze softened.

"It's like Porthos said; mostly a camping trip,"

Athos knew that, but for some reason his fingers remained twisted in his brother's sleeve. He stood rigid, alert for a reason he could not really identify. But it fell away when Aramis wrapped his arms around him in an embrace. Athos cursed the sudden sting in his eyes and the desire to hold on his brother a while longer.

Aramis was smiling as he pulled back.

"You owed me a goodbye hug," he said by the way of explanation.

"I'd rather take a welcome back hug,"

The words echoed back to the day after their final A'levels exam, to the moments when the three of them had went their separate ways at the airport. They had had this same conversation then and it had been three years when they had met again for a hurried weekend wedding, and another year before they had gotten together once more. Athos felt something sink in his stomach at the memory and forced his attention back to the present when the sound of throttle cut the air.

Aramis was on his motorcycle, the helmet already on his head although the visor was pulled up.

"See you in a few days," he grinned, flipped the visor close and with a mock salute he pulled out onto the road.

Athos shivered and wrapped his arms around his middle. He tamped down the desire to call his friend back and stood staring at the empty street long after the man was gone.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Let me know what you think…**


	2. Chapter 2

His phone was still stuck to his ear as he looked down. Dark eyes zeroed in on the notepad and his vision tunneled around the hastily scribbled information. Porthos shook his head, pressed a hand flat onto the countertop and leaned against it as he closed his eyes; locked his knees that were threatening to fold under him. With a frown he pulled the phone away from his ear realizing that the call had ended a while ago. His grip tightened around the device as a sudden desire to throw it against the wall surged up, swelled up in his throat in a salty lump and squeezed past the corners of his clenched eyes.

This is not happening he told himself, this is not happening – not happening – this has happened and he needed – he needed to call Athos.

Squinting at the screen of his phone he ordered his brain to focus on the everyday task that had never been this confusing. It took him several tries to make the call, his fingers shook to reach the number on his speed dial and his heartbeat raced with each ring that echoed in his ear.

"Porthos, tell that friend of ours –"

"Athos,"

It came out as a rough croak and Porthos cleared his throat, held the phone tighter as if he could somehow reach out and touch his friend on the other end of the call. To connect with one of the two people in his life that he considered family.

The silence stretched.

He cleared his throat again, searched his brain for the words for this.

"They contacted me first and I didn't want a stranger calling you to –"

A sound he would expect from a wounded animal came across the line and Porthos' chest tightened as the fear dug deeper in his heart. Understanding dawned on him like the sun on the last day of the earth and he sucked in a breath.

"Shit – no Athos he's alive – for now,"

He needed to move, he needed to get to Athos and then to Aramis. They had to get to Aramis before – Porthos shook his head to himself even as he tore the page off the notepad and reached for his wallet and keys. Locking his flat after him he hastened down the stairs.

"Look I'm coming to get you yeah? Just remembers he's alive alright?"

"How bad?" Athos asked.

His voice was soft and hoarse.

"Bad," Porthos replied.

It went unsaid that it was bad enough that they were being contacted.

The silence between them held that shared knowledge, but neither was ready to materialize it in voicing.

His breath misted before him as Porthos stepped out into the night only to realize that his car had not been fixed yet. He hurried along the footpath to hail a taxi and rattled off Athos' address to the driver of the first one he could find. Ignoring the strange looks the man behind the steering wheel kept throwing his way Porthos focused on the phone, pressed it harder to him when the silence became too loud in his ear.

"Athos you there?" he asked.

"Hmm…"

"Athos?"

The echo of a ragged breath cut harshly across the line.

"Talk to me," Porthos said.

Not only because Athos needed to but because he needed it too. Needed to know he was not alone in this, that he still had another brother who was alive and well and would fight beside him even if they had to take death head on and drag their third out from its jaws.

But this has happened his mind reminded him, already done, already d –

"It was supposed to be a bloody camping trip!"

The growl was unexpected from his friend but Porthos found himself nodding along. He did not like the frayed edge that he could hear in his brother's voice and silently urged the driver to go faster.

"Porthos?"

"I'm here,"

"He's alive right?"

"That's what I was told,"

"How bad is it?"

"They were attacked,"

It came out more clipped than he had wanted to. But the thought of his brother attacked on what was supposed to be a secure sight, where he had gone only for a training exercise with young ones who probably hadn't seen combat yet churned in Porthos' gut like magma. It seeped into his veins as white hot rage.

"But they weren't armed," Athos voice was whisper, "they were not armed for this one,"

Porthos pulled in a breath and let it go slowly.

"Porthos?"

"I'm here,"

And that time he was actually there. Paying the driver far more than he owed Porthos wasted no time to wait for the change and jogged up to the main door of Athos' residence. It pulled open just as he reached for it. Athos' face was drained of color. Porthos' hand hovering in midair reached for his brother as the man staggered back a little. Grasping him by the shoulder Porthos steadied his friend even as the man thumped back into the wall. A shiver rolled in the muscle under his hand and wide blue eyes fixed him with a pleading look.

"I can't be too late for him too,"

And he understood then why Athos was insisting on details. Porthos closed his eyes at the thought of the little brother his friend had lost, the one he had been too late to save. His jaw clenched against the reassurances he knew he could not offer this time as well and with a growl Porthos jerked Athos forward into a hug. Held on to him with the same desperation with which his friend clung to him.

When he pulled back it was to the sight of tear tracks on Athos' face. His friend hastily wiped his face with his sleeve and Porthos' gaze dropped to the powdery white stain on the man's shirt front. It hit him then that he was still wearing the colorful 'Flour Power' apron, the one he had donned as he had started on the homemade pizza he had promised Aramis on his return.

Dried clumps of dough still clung to the edges of his blunt nails as Porthos' hands clenched into fists. His eyes stung as he pulled off the apron and dumped it on the nearest piece of furniture. This night was supposed to go very very differently.

"Get your car keys," he told Athos, "I'm driving."

* * *

The car was quiet.

His mind was not.

Athos stared ahead at the patch of road that the car's headlights illuminated; his vision blurred and cleared sporadically...

 _...a whoop of joy is their only warning before the dark haired blur connects with Porthos' back. He is impressed when his friend not even sways for a second as Aramis throws his arms around the older boy's neck and wraps his legs around his waist._

 _"Freedom at last!" Aramis declares._

 _Porthos shakes his head and chuckles as they resume walking._

 _"I take your exam went well," Athos says._

 _Although he knows that like every other time this one would have gone well too; because the three of them had prepared for all the questions that had come in their test._

 _"You had perfectly guessed the questions right down to the last one," Aramis says._

 _"Our very own fortune teller," Porthos nods._

 _"A calculated deduction," he shrugs, nose held exaggeratingly high._

 _Aramis swats at his head for the pompous tone and Porthos bumps into him._

 _"Nope, you my friend have a gift," he says._

 _"Porthos' right," Aramis grins, "tell me oh great one of foresight, what this day holds for me?"_

 _He catches Porthos' dimpled grin when the other boy stops in his tracks to face him, his intent is clear on his face and Athos' own lips twitch into a smile. His gaze flicks onto the younger boy clinging to Porthos' back and he forces a bland tone in his voice._

 _"I see pain in your immediate future," he says._

 _"What?"_

 _And Porthos chooses that moment to topple backwards onto the grassy ground._

 _An indignant squawk breaks the air but it is drowned out by Porthos' laughter booming in the grounds..._

...Athos' hands curled into fists as the night from four days ago flashed to the forefront of his mind. That sinking feeling in his gut hadn't abated ever since his brother's motorcycle had disappeared around the curb. He jaw worked at the memory of when he had had the chance to voice his fears. He should have said something; he should have stopped him; he should have warned him, Athos pursed his lips to keep from growling.

He jumped slightly when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Porthos' face was set, his eyes hard in a desperate attempt to hide the fear lurking there.

"We're here," he said.

Glancing out at the hospital building Athos nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt with a shaky hand. There had always been a chance of this; they had always considered this situation in the back of their minds. There had always been a possibility of injury, of death but no amount preparation could have readied him for this moment.

Athos stepped outside of the car and pulled in a harsh breath when the cold bit into his skin. Hastily he wiped at the wetness on his face that made the air chillier for him. He couldn't pinpoint when he may have shed tears but made sure to clear away the remnants as they crossed the parking lot and headed inside the hospital; Porthos a blessedly steady presence in step with him.

"Second floor," his friend looked up from the crumpled paper in his hand, "we're looking for a Dr. O'Brian."

They weaved through the thin crowd towards the elevators and reached the doors just as they slid close. Athos turned on his heels, glanced at the signboard hanging above and followed the directions to the door further down the corridor, the one leading to the stairwell. It was only when they neared the nurses' station on the second floor that he faltered.

Porthos turned back to him in surprise and Athos was sure his terror was clearly visible on his face for the big man's eyes softened. His friend grasped him by the forearm and pulled him along, gentle but firm, steadying him when Athos tripped over his own feet halfway there.

"You want to wait here?" Porthos asked.

Athos swallowed against the tightness in his throat and shook his head. Forced himself to believe that this would not end like it had for Thomas, he would not witness another brother's coffin lowered into the grave.

"I'm fine," he said.

His friend nodded once and hurried over to the nurses' station. Athos followed, immensely thankful that Porthos hadn't called him out on the obvious lie. He reached them just as the nurse ended her call and asked them to follow.

"Can we see him?" Porthos asked the woman, "Our friend?"

"He's still in surgery," she said, "But Dr. O'Brian will answer any questions you have,"

She knocked on the door and motioned for them to go ahead. Athos took a steadying breath and stopped with his hand on the door. He glanced over his shoulder to find his friend rooted to the spot. Porthos' eyes fluttered close for a moment as he swallowed thickly.

"C'mon," Athos nudged him along and they entered the doctor's office together.

Doctor O'Brian sat behind the desk, an X-ray lit up at her side as she turned from it to regard the new comers. But it was the man in uniform sitting in one of the visiting chairs that stopped Athos in his tracks. The reality of how bad the situation was sunk in like a boulder in a riverbed at the sight of Aramis' Officer Commanding in the doctor's office. Athos' hold on Porthos turned from leading to leaning.

"Major Edwards," it left him in a breath.

"Gentlemen,"

The dread of something sinister afoot curled like grey smoke around his vision and he had no idea when he was deposited in a chair. Only knew that Porthos sat beside him.

"You must be Mr. Du Vallon and Mr. de la Fere," Doctor O'Brian said, "Lieutenant d'Herblay's next of kin. I'm Doctor O'Brian, in charge of the Lieutenant's case"

"Aramis," Athos cleared his throat, "he goes by Aramis."

"I'm Porthos Du Vallon, that's Athos," Porthos added, "We are told Aramis is in surgery?"

"Yes," she glanced at the wall clock, "for over two hours now. As I was explaining to Major Edwards here our priority is to stop the hemorrhaging before we move on to restorative measures."

Athos looked to Porthos in unison with the man turning to him. They had no idea why their friend was in this condition.

"What happened?" it came out in croak.

"He took a bullet," Major Edwards said, "and a hit to the head."

"Who –?"

"We are looking into it," Major Edwards continued, "at the moment it seems like the work of mercenaries according to the bodies we have gathered. Presumably a large group of them that had escaped by the time the unit dispatched arrived on the scene."

"You were advised of the enemy?"

"A distress call," Major Edwards said, "unexpected,"

"And Aramis was shot," Athos clarified.

"Yes," Doctor O'Brian said, she pointed to the X-ray, "the bullet broke the clavicle bone here, and nicked the artery before it hit the first and second ribs here. Perforated the left lung and broke the fifth rib and lodged halfway out the muscle in his back;" she circled the flecks on the black plastic, "the bone fragments from the clavicle lacerated the lung further but none pierced the artery. Your friend is a very lucky man."

Porthos let go an audible breath.

Athos swallowed once, twice, the sour taste of bile lingered at the back of his throat.

"Lucky?" he blinked, his voice low and harsh, "lucky? How is he lucky having gone through that?"

"I sent twenty two men out there. Brought back fourteen in body bags, six dead on arrivals, one missing in action," Major Edwards said, "yes, d'Herblay is a very lucky man."

Sweat broke along his back and he shivered, Athos wiped a sleeve over his mouth and pulled in a breath. The sheer amount of death was enough to make his heart skip a few beats and for adrenalin to flush into his veins for the desire to have something to do.

"The one missing –" Porthos said.

"Lieutenant Marsac," Major Edwards said, "we are still searching."

Athos turned to the Doctor.

"The hit to the head?" He asked.

"A minor skull fracture," she said, "we are monitoring the swelling,"

"So he should be fine?" Porthos pressed.

"He was brought to us in critical condition, a prognosis right now would be too soon to establish,"

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back the retort skirting his control. He knew that the doctor was right; no one who had gone through that much damage would simply be fine. Drawing a hand through his hair he forced himself to sit still and absorb the information the doctor offered as she explained about the metal plates that would be inserted for the healing bones and the risks of massive blood loss that their friend had suffered from.

In the end they were left in the waiting room with the assurance that they would be contacted as soon as there was something to be contacted about.

Porthos walked; up and down in the small space made smaller with the sofas lining the wall and when that didn't prove enough he walked in circles. Athos was sure it was adding to, if not causing his dizziness. Sitting back he tipped his head up against the wall and closed his eyes. The fluorescent lights set in the ceiling still painted red patches on the back of his eyelids and he tried not to think about his friend lying alone and bleeding in some distant forest.

Tried to remember that Aramis was still alive, still fighting, still holding on under the hand of some of the best surgeons the country had to offer. Athos sat forwards abruptly and stared at his shaky hands, the long lost desire to muffle the world with wine a twinge at the back of his mind ...

 _...the red on his hands has turned purple._

 _The warmth of it cooled like the body he has been trying to keep alive, the one he has been hoping would keep the blood in where it was supposed to be, guided by a beating heart. A beating heart that has been silenced._

 _"C'mon, you need to clean up,"_

 _He looks up, vision swaying before it settles on Aramis._

 _Looks back down when his friend pries the empty bottle from his hand._

 _The taste of wine is like a layer on his tongue, a blanket on his senses._

 _It is not enough._

 _"No, Athos you didn't need more," Aramis grasps the hand that has been reaching for another bottle._

 _"My Tommy's dead," he says, "she killed him."_

 _"I know,"_

 _"I should have stopped her. I should have known. I should have –"_

 _Warm hands brace his face on either side and Aramis waits until their eyes meet._

 _"You couldn't have Athos," he says, "This is not your fault,"_

 _And he wants to believe him; he wants to believe that he couldn't have seen this coming..._

...with hand on his mouth he shot to his feet. Athos left the waiting room not even realizing that Porthos followed him. He hurried down the hallway towards the washrooms and reached his destination seconds before his lunch made a reappearance.

* * *

He passed the empty stretcher to his left and then the high metal trolley to his right. Walked the entire length of the corridor they had taken Aramis through about half an hour ago. It had taken them a total of seven hours in surgery to put his friend together again. Aramis was 'stable but critical' they had told them and then had asked them to wait some more. Porthos looked to the double doors at the end of the hallway that they were not allowed to cross yet and then back at the man sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall and his head in his hands.

Porthos sighed and turned around, followed the pale green line on the wall to the other end of the hallway and then began his trek back. It was five in the morning and he had left a message for the Captain explaining the situation. Athos had reminded him an hour ago that the man would be worried by their unannounced absence but had decided against leaving a voice message himself.

He had pretty much torn up his throat dry heaving.

Porthos stopped in his tracks again and eyed the bottle of water he had pressed in his friend's hands earlier. It sat untouched by his feet, with a shake of his head Porthos went to sit by his friend and plucked the water bottle. Taking off the cap he gave it to his friend again.

"I'm fine,"

"Drink for me yeah?" he said, "My ears hurt just listening to you,"

His friend muttered something under his breath but obliged him with a few sips. Porthos rolled his eyes but lost the words on his lips when he saw Doctor O'Brian approaching. The two of them hurried to their feet and met the doctor halfway. Her grim smile flipped something in Porthos' stomach and he was grateful for the hand that wrapped around his upper arm.

Athos' fingers dug into his skin like a panicked barnacle holding tight and Porthos raised his other hand to lay it on his friend's.

"Can we see him?" he asked.

"One at a time and for no more than two minutes." Doctor O'Brian said, "And keep in mind that it may all seem frightening but we have done our best to keep him comfortable. The machines and apparatuses are there because they are helping him to heal."

Porthos' grip tightened on his friend's grasp who held on just as tightly. Doctor O'Brian looked from one to the other and something shifted in her eyes. Her gaze softened and she nodded.

"Alright, you can go in together but you can't stay long,"

It took them a few minutes to wear the disposable gloves, gowns and masks and then they were trailing after Doctor O'Brian like a pair of lost children. Porthos barely registered the muted white noise of machines in the otherwise silent ICU. His mind was so focused on finally getting to lay eyes on his brother that he nearly ran into the Doctor when she stopped.

"You have two minutes," she sais and stepped away.

A few seconds passed before he realized that this was it, that they were within an arms' reach from Aramis. Porthos blinked and blinked again, sucked in a breath and held it. He felt Athos close at his side as they stepped forward towards the bed that held the shell of the friend they had known all their lives.

Because Aramis looked shrunken, drained and haggard as he drowned in a sea of wires and tubes; in waves of starchy white and shades of blue. The bright blue of the top of the breathing tube going down his throat contrasted with the darker blue of the strap that held it in place over his mouth. An even darker shade of blue, an almost black stain at the side of his forehead stood out in the harsh lighting and tied in with the blue spread in patches over his chest where the white gauze had not covered his skin.

Porthos reached out to brush back the loose dark curls that had fallen on the too pale face of his brother but stopped short mid-air. He glanced at the armada of machines; beeping, hissing, clicking like some nightmarish keepers and felt the fear coil in his gut that his touch may just unbalance some precarious truce over his friend's life.

He felt Athos' hand slide into his own and gripped the bed railing with his other hand instead. He looked down past the blur in his gaze and the various IV lines and wires and found his gaze fixed onto his friend's bruised and chipped knuckles. They may not know yet who was responsible for the condition Aramis was in but it was obvious that their friend had put up a fight.

The surge of pride at that nearly choked him.

His hand tightened around Athos' and he blindly let themselves be led away from the ICU. Once outside and free of the extra layers he found himself quivering like an exposed nerve end. Someone out there roaming free was responsible for his friend's condition. Someone had almost shoved his brother through death's door and Porthos' hands clenched into fists at the thought.

He followed Athos back to waiting room, grinding his teeth in frustrated rage. He had a feeling that should he dared to let his control go he would crumble; would likely shake himself apart in his sorrow and anger. He had felt this brittle, this helpless and empty only once before in his life...

... _his hand comes up to shield his eyes the moment he steps into the kitchen._

 _It's quiet and still and empty and so damn bright._

 _That yellow curtain his mother had hung over the window actually glows in the last of the evening light. There is movement beside him and he turns to see a short tower of empty boxes on legs. A pair of dark eyes look at him from over the boxes._

" _You take the top cabinets and I'll take the bottom," Aramis says._

 _His friend moves past him. Not really asking and not really telling, suggesting and doing so that Porthos has something to depend on for his movements._

 _He nods and forces his lungs to move where they are trapped inside his ribs. His head weighs a ton on his neck and he knows it's a race between what will snap first, his spine or his ribcage. Stumbling forward he reaches for the counter and sucks in a breath. Closes his eyes as the entire house seems to go on a spin and his legs waver under the sudden feeling of weightlessness. His white knuckled grip on the edge of the counter is not enough to hold him upright when his knees buckle._

 _His ears are filled with static and distantly he is aware of hands touching him; grasping, holding, guiding. When he blinks it is to see the blurry view of the kitchen ceiling. The tiles are cool under his back and he shudders where he lies on the floor. Closes his eyes against the wet burning and cannot stop the tears that he hadn't shed since his breakdown at the hospital days ago. Now they pour forth like the gushing waters from a faulty spillway of a dam, track down the side of his face, past his hair line and into his curls._

 _There is nothing but salty waves to accost him, to chip away at him and leave him hollow like driftwood._

"... _been a long cold lonely winter..."_

 _He gasps, wet and choked._

"... _feels like years since it's been here..."_

 _It's Aramis' voice not his Mum's; but that tune, the words she had loved, had hummed and sang wash over him._

"... _comes the sun..."_

 _A kneeing sound escapes his throat and as his hands flex into fists he becomes aware of the hold on his wrist._

"... _smiles returning to the faces..."_

 _He can't see, can't stop the hot wetness staining his face._

"... _since its been here..."_

 _And then he feels the warmth pressed along his side, can feel the shoulder touching his own, the arm along his own where it ends with the hand gripping his wrist. He does not need to see to know that Aramis is lying on his back on the floor right beside him._

"... _here it comes..."_

 _His eyes burn and spill over again and again as if trying in vain to quench the fire in them._

"... _sun, sun..."_

 _He isn't weightless anymore. Is there, present and alive and aching but no longer adrift. Because no matter how much he wishes to be a flitting shadow in this world the vice anchoring him at the moment would not let him get washed away._

"... _ice is slowly melting..."_

 _His head throbs and he clenches his eyes shut against it. Can see his Mum in the kitchen, hear her voice instructing him as they bake together, can feel her moving as he pretends to be asleep when she comes to check up on him and can feel her arms around him when he ran into them after school._

"... _years since it's been clear..."_

 _He breaths and for the first time since his Mum died his chest expands fully, the pain is there but it no longer cuts into his lungs like a festering wound._

"... _I say it's alright..."_

 _He shifts and rolls onto his side, his shoulder protests against the hard press onto the floor but he simply grasps his brother's arm in both hands and holds on. Aramis does not look his way and he can't see him through the tears anyway._

"... _it's alright, it's alright..."_

...Porthos dropped onto a sofa and leaned forward. With his elbows digging into his legs he let his head fall into his hands, fingers clenching in his hair and pulling at the curls until it stung. His eyes prickled and he sat up with a swipe of his hand over his face when the sound of approaching footsteps paused at his side.

He looked up, eyes widening at the sight of Captain Treville standing before him. The blue gaze was grim but kind and the Captain handed him a cup of coffee by the way of greeting. Porthos wondered if he was hallucinating even as Treville nodded towards the sandwiches in the box he extended towards him. Porthos could taste bile at the back of his throat just by the idea of easting and pursing his lips he shook his head slightly.

"You need to eat," said Treville.

The blue eyes shifted from Porthos' face to the man on his other side.

"Both of you," the Captain said, "no point in falling on your face before Aramis can even wake up."

The steady faith in their friend's recovery loosened the knot in his stomach if only a little and Porthos turned to Athos at his side. The eyes that met his were just as hollow, just as lost. Porthos handed his own cup of coffee to his friend and took the other one from the Captain. With a nod of thanks he took a sandwich too and bit into it mechanically. It tasted like cardboard and stuck to the roof of his mouth like one. But from the corner of his eye he saw Athos follow his lead and felt tension in his shoulders ease a bit.

Porthos pulled in a deep breath and let it go slowly...

"... _and I say it's alright, it's alright."_

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow the story. Thank you those who leave me reviews, you people are amazing to take the time to do so and it means a lot that you do! And Thank You Jmp, Sarah and Clara for leaving me your kind words, they are cherished and dotted upon.**

 **Clara: Thank you for thinking the story worth so many readers. I will try to post it there too once I get an account AND the understanding of its workings there :)**


	3. Chapter 3

_The air reeks of feed and bird droppings. It is filled with soft coos and a constant rustle of pale brown feathers._

 _Wings flap in too tight spaces._

 _Mourning doves –_ _Zenaida macroura – the book in his father's library had called them. The books he is not supposed to read, the books he not supposed to know how to read. He crouches down at the door of one of the cages lining the wall, finger tips pressing against the sharp thin edges of the metal net. There isn't even a lock at the door, just a thick piece of stick wedged where the latch had gone through the strike plate. He rolls his eyes at the silliness of it._

 _He is five and even he knows such a lock would not hold._

 _He knows all about locks that hold like the ones in his father's study and the ones that don't like the locks of his room._

 _The birds packed inside flutter at his nearness, try to hop away in the small space. Small round heads cock to the side to get a better look at him and dark eyes fix his way. He sees fear in them._

 _He knows fear too._

 _Reaching out to the piece of wood he pries it out and pulls the latch open. The birds coo louder, as if they understand what he is doing, as if they know that this time when each of them would take flight there will be no sound of gunshot following them._

 _Because that is the reason his father keeps them._

 _To let them free only to shoot them down._

 _A flutter of wings and a crack of gunshot._

 _He is sick of it._

 _Flutter and gunshot._

 _Flutter and gunshot._

 _He will let these birds free before his father can get a hand on his gun._

 _He startles when the first bird hops closer; lands on his rear as the little creature flaps its wings as though in a huff and walks out through the open door of the cage. Others are following this one in curiosity but his eyes are fixed on the one bird that had ventured out first. A smile splits across his face as the pink-brown wings flutter and the mourning dove takes a small flight, lands a few feet further away from him. He grins as the small bird investigates the upturned silver pail by the far wall..._

...it was pitch black, a sticky darkness that he waded in. It clung to him, heavy and thick and cloying between his fingers. Aramis could not tell if his eyes were open for there was no light, but he could feel the subtly grainy texture of the cloggy darkness around him, could feel it stretch into thick threads from the tips of his fingers as he tried to raise his hands out of the chilly tar he had found himself in. It weighed heavy on his shoulders, sucked on his arms as he struggled to pull them free and threatened to drag him under with each shift. His movements already slowed by the cold darkness sticking to his skin.

There was pain somewhere, a deep red presence that lurked in the darkness. It rattled the chain that held it in check, growled in a low rumble that sent ripples in the pit of black he was stuck in. Yellow brown eyes appeared too close to his face and a white snarl flashed in his vision.

Aramis stilled.

* * *

"Anything?"

Athos turned away from the window and shook his head, watched his friend's wide shoulders drop slightly as he closed the door after him. Porthos set the paper bag on the rolling table that had been pushed by the wall and walked up to the bed. He leaned over the bed's railing to adjust the covers over their unconscious friend; large hands gently smoothing the creases and tucking the folds with utmost care.

Athos hadn't the heart to remind him that it was not needed. That Aramis hadn't moved voluntarily ever since he had been brought to this hospital three days ago. Instead he met his gaze from across the bed between them and hoped that there was reassurance in his eyes. The dark eyes that met his at least hinted a tremulous hope.

"Serious is better than critical," Porthos said, "They did kick him out of the ICU after all,"

Athos nodded and reached out to brush the back of his fingers over Aramis' brow, mindful to steer clear of the deep purple bruise spread over the side. His brother's skin was warmer now, yet not warm enough, the clammy chill hung on from the blood loss.

"Doctor O'Brian says that he is reacting to pain and the tests show brain activity," he said and pulled his hand back, grasped the metal railing instead, "It's just that he's not waking up."

Porthos' smile was weak and his eyes wet as he shrugged.

"He could be the worst slugabed when he chose to be," he said.

Athos tried to smile too, tried to cling onto the optimism Porthos was hanging from but his eyes drifted back to Aramis' face and lingered over the breathing tube. The hiss and click of the ventilator grated on his nerves and he wanted nothing more than to rid of the apparatus that was a testament of his friend's weakness.

"It's helping him,"

He glanced back at Porthos and nodded at his words.

"Still wish he wouldn't need it," his friend added.

Athos pursed his lips and his grip tightened onto the bed railing until his knuckles were as white as the metal they grasped. He closed his eyes against Aramis' lax features and focused on to the steady beat of the heart monitor; the even rhythm hadn't thrown an extra beat for a day now.

The hand on his shoulder surprised him.

When he looked back Porthos motioned with his head towards the paper bag.

"Eat something," he said, "then go home for a bit, I'll sit with him."

It was the Captain's plan, to get the two of them enough rest to keep them functional. Athos didn't want to go back to his residence, just like he had known Porthos hadn't wanted to leave the hospital either. Not until they could be sure that Aramis was awake and recovering. He looked to his brother at his side and saw the same fear in the firm set of his face that was buried in his own heart. That one of them had to keep an eye on Aramis lest he would slip away to where they wouldn't be able to reach him.

Looking back to the gaunt face that was as pale as the pillow it rested on Athos blinked back the stinging in his eyes. He rested the palm of his hand over Aramis' forehead and smoothed a thumb over his eyebrow. The closed eyes didn't so much as twitched and Athos swallowed the rock in his throat.

"Don't stray too far brother," he said.

* * *

It was still.

And it was still dark.

Aramis waited, gathered his strength and pushed against the black that gripped his senses. Nothing moved, nothing budged and he felt like a feather stuck in molasses; one that was slowly being dragged along the slow descent of the sticky darkness.

He just knew that what waited for him at the bottom was not good.

He had no idea how he got here and he had no clue wherever this was. But he needed to get out, to breach the surface, to move. Yet the moment he did the darkness moved with him. It crawled up to his neck and beyond, stuck to his eyelids and poured into his ears, up his nose and down his throat until the heavy treacle was in his very veins.

It weighed him down.

Thickened under his skin and made it impossible to move...

... _the silver-grey building is quiet in the white landscape; there has been no activity for three out of four days of his recon mission. He lowers the collapsible binoculars, closing the barrels around the hinge in the bridge between them, and deposits it in one of the many pockets of his insulated white trousers._

 _The wind has picked up speed over the last hours and the flurry of white flecks stick to the clear lenses of his goggles; the chill stings what little of the skin of his face that is exposed. He sits up from where he has been lying on his stomach atop a ledge in the eternal white and cocks his head to the side, focuses on the barely there rumble in the whistling silence of the otherwise undisturbed wind._

 _Hastening to his feet he looks up at the snow covered slope at his back and throws out a hand to balance himself when his own speed and the lack of oxygen in the air makes him sway. It takes him a second to realize that that is not the only reason for the abrupt bout of vertigo. There is an undercurrent in the packed snow his boots are gripping and he breaks into a quick trudge to the side._

 _Rushes towards the distant forest to his left even as a resounding crack echoes – cut off by a flap of wings. He glances to the sky as a mourning dove flies out above his head and when he looks back down his heart stutters. Because before him are two boys, grinning and waving at him to follow._

" _No," he shakes his head, "No, you're not supposed to be here,"_

 _Because he knows how this story ends, knows where this is, what this mission is. And Athos and Porthos are not with him here – especially Athos and Porthos who are no more than seven years old._

 _He casts a glance at the incline at his side and it's as if the universe has only been waiting for him to acknowledge it. The rumble becomes louder, the sliding snow obvious under his feet and he speeds up, arms thrown out to reach for the two boys ahead because they have no idea what danger they are in._

 _He has to get to them, save them._

 _The avalanche hits him in the side, he is sure he can hear the ribs crack at the impact as his feet slip from under him. But his training kicks in and he is swimming in the cold hard snow, trying to stay on top of it even as he searches for Athos and Porthos. His arms hurt from the exertion but the snow isn't done yet._

 _It drags him along until he hits a tree. And he reaches above to grab a branch, pulls himself up, sputtering in the cold._

 _He spots the boys up ahead, motioning for him to hurry up as they walk on over the ever churning snow, the shifting rolling white a steady ground under their little feet. And as his vision whites out he sees a mourning dove flying in their wake..._

...the beeping irritated him.

Like an itch at the back of his throat.

He pulled in a breath and choked on it. Something was lodged in his esophagus and he could not breathe, he could not cough it out, there was no air in his starved lungs. Aramis tried to claw at the blockage, to jar it loose but that thick heaviness held on to his limb, kept it down.

He moved his other hand, tried to, but the hot white pain that hit him blacked out everything...

... _something pokes him in the side._

" _C'mon, c'mon Mum's finally gone to bed," Porthos' voice is strangely close to his ear._

" _Get up already Aramis," Athos says._

 _He wakes up in darkness. It is not the base camp he was expecting for some reason but a sleeping bag in Porthos' room. The wall at his back is solid but the sleeping bag on his other side is empty. A glance beyond in the dim light from the hallway shows the rumpled spaceship spotted bed-sheet but no Porthos._

 _A coo makes him sit up and he stares at the mourning dove pecking at Athos' sleeping bag. He hisses when pain shoots down his shoulder to his finger tips and he looks down to find it in a sling._

" _If you don't hurry up we'll start without you," Porthos warns him from the doorway._

" _And then you'll have to guess a password for entrance," Athos adds._

 _He looks back down at the bird that has flown on top of the bed and watches it escape into the hallway after his friends._

 _Unzipping the side of his sleeping bag he pushes it aside and gets to his feet, nearly trips over the cushion that had been under his hurt arm and quickly pads after them. They have just gone down the stairs when the door across Porthos' room opens and Mrs. Du Vallon steps out._

 _He stops._

 _Knows he's caught out._

 _But Mrs. Du Vallon does not react like his father, she never has._

 _His rigid back loosens as she crouches down before him and pulls him in a gentle embrace, one he is learning not to freeze up in._

" _I'm sorry," she says as she pulls back, "I'm so sorry darling,"_

 _He shakes his head vigorously, is not comfortable with grownups in general let alone ones apologizing to him._

" _I didn't think he would prove his point like this," her hand is warm against the side of his neck, careful to not touch his lightly throbbing shoulder on that side, although her eyes fix onto his arm in the sling, "I shouldn't have confronted him like that."_

 _His hand trembles a little as he reaches out to her, for the first time initiates contact with an adult and wipes at her wet cheek._

" ' _s not your fault," he says, "it's okay, it's normal, just the way he is."_

 _Because yes, his father has been livid when Mrs. Du Vallon and that twitchy man had left his study; he has been smiling and been polite in a way that had told him that this was coming; but he had done his best not incur more of his father's displeasure when the twitchy man had asked him questions like he was a two years old instead of six._

 _He wonders if she's mad at him for that and steals a peek. Her lips are pursed and her fingers card through his hair._

 _It's nice._

 _Very nice._

 _If a fractured arm is all the price he has to pay to get permission to spend a few nights with his friends and with this woman who is just so nice, who never calls him Rene – he decides immediately he would pay such a price gladly._

 _He even smiles when she pulls him in another hug and looks him in the eyes when they pull away again._

" _It is not okay Aramis," she says, "the way he is, what he does to you is not okay in anyway. Do you understand that?"_

 _He nods._

 _She sighs and gets to her feet._

" _There's ice cream in the back of the freezer and the chairs by the counter are quite sturdy," she winks at him._

 _He is grinning when he comes downstairs and goes straight to the treasure trove in the cold. Clutching it with his one good arm he makes his way to the blanket fort aglow from Porthos' camping-light. His gaze flicks to the top of dining table that is functioning as the roof of this fort and the mourning dove there gives him a pause._

 _Two heads poke out from between the gap in the draped blankets._

" _C'mon already Aramis!"_

 _He moves and steps into empty space. Plunges into nothing..._

...the beeping would not go away, like a buzzing housefly that just doesn't know when to quit. Aramis wished he could get his hands on a rolled up newspaper to strike it down, just one good swat to shut it up.

"It's a good sign. If he's fighting the vent it means he's good to breathe on his own,"

There was an audible exhale somewhere.

A screech of chair as it protested a sudden weight on it.

"So he'll be waking up soon?"

Porthos sounded like he had the flu.

"Most likely,"

"It's about time,"

There was no heat behind Athos' words.

He wanted to see them, wanted to wipe the away the worry he could read between their words and he wanted a newspaper to end that incessant beeping once and for all...

... _he lands hard onto his knees, the arm around his throat choking the breath out him. Dark spots flash in his vision and he wraps one arm around the shin of the man behind him while he puts all his waning strength in his free elbow that rams into the groin of his opponent._

 _He yanks at the other leg even as the man gasps and curls forwards and pulling in a gasping breath he turns around to deliver a hard blow to his opponent's face. Throws out his hands to break his own fall and breathes, fingers digging into the light padding under them as he forces himself not to gulp down air; his aching chest cannot take that much._

 _Shaking off the lingering grey edges in his vision he sits back and eyes the man curled slightly onto his side._

" _That the best you got?" he rasps._

 _Marsac rolls onto his back and wipes a hand under his bleeding nose._

" _You're a bloody cheater,"_

 _There is no accusation in his voice and when the blue eyes slant towards him there is an amused understanding in them._

" _What happened to honour?"_

" _Went out the window when you challenged a man with a broken rib,"_

 _Marsac sits up, wincing and grimacing as he does._

" _The enemy won't care you're injured," he says._

" _And the enemy won't care for rules in a fight either,"_

 _Marsac throws back his head and laughs. Leans back on an elbow and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, a touch that is surprisingly lighter than he had expected._

" _You're good kid," he says, "you just might survive out there,"_

 _He shoves his friend away but the retort dies on his lips when he glances across the training mats. There by the door the two boys wait for him, shifting on their feet in impatience and frowning at him. Dark eyes and blue eyes are fixed onto him._

" _You're not here," he shakes his head._

" _I'm hungry," Marsac announces, "food after shower!"_

 _He stares, from the boys to Marsac then back again at Athos and Porthos. He knows where this is going, knows that after shower his friend will be dragging him to the medical for a check up on his injury, knows the words from the kind doctor as she would scold him for his stupidity and threaten to report him but never will._

 _He knows this._

" _You weren't here," he mutters._

 _But they wave at him once and then turn around to push open the door. He gets to his feet with a wince, presses an arm against his broken rib and staggers after them. The hallways are empty, not even a recruit is about for him to ask about the little boys who were not supposed to be there – who were not there._

 _He pauses, wonders if he's going insane._

 _A soft coo breaks into his thought and he whirls around, catches the fleeting glimpse of a pale brown tail as the bird disappears into the left corridor behind him. He doesn't think, doesn't question anything, he simply breaks into a jog to cover the distance._

 _Turns around the corner just in time to see the locker room doors at the other end swinging shut..._

...there was light, a muted glow at the edge of his consciousness.

He tried to find his way in it, waded in the honeyed glow as he tried to rid himself of the last remnants of confusion clinging to his mind. There was no sense of direction, no pull of gravity as he struggled to breach the horizon. With each clumsy, sluggish step a dull throb pulsed through him. Beat by beat the pain was growing, but like candle wax in the glare of the sun the haze around him was thinning too...

... _his jog turns into a sprint and he pushes the metal door open, stops short at the crowd before him. The airport is bustling and a thump on the shoulder from behind nearly topples him face first onto the shiny floor._

" _I know it's too early but no need to fall asleep on your feet," Porthos says._

 _Throws an arm around his neck and drags him along._

" _Not when there are chairs to fall asleep in," Athos says._

 _He looks from one friend to the other, relishes at them flanking him as if nothing had changed in their world. But the bag on Porthos' other shoulder and the whir of wheels of Athos' suitcase behind him is a proof otherwise. He is sixteen, he doesn't need people holding his hand, cannot be selfish by wanting them close._

 _They are all adults now; they have their own paths to travel, even when they lead them apart._

" _Oh cheer up, this volunteer work is only for a two months project," Porthos says, "I'll be back before the session starts at your university."_

" _And I'll be back the very day of the first set of holidays that comes my way," Athos says, lays a hand on his shoulder, "and there is always the choice of phone calls and e-mails,"_

 _His heart lightens, remembers the promise from last night and he grins. A flutter of wings surprises him to look up and he frowns at the mourning dove, wonders how it even got inside. He reaches to get his friends' attention on it but his hand falls on empty sir._

 _With a start his attention snaps back._

 _But his friends are already walking away. He looks from the figures disappearing in the crowd to the bird that swoops low over his head and flies away behind him. He turns in time to see the two little boys whispering to each other by the entrance door. They look to him with bright smiles and wave at him to come closer._

 _His feet move of their own accord just as the boys walk out of the airport, the mourning dove following them out overhead. But he stops; glances back at the doors of the airport terminal he had seen his friends vanishing beyond. He knows what's coming after this, knows these two won't be returning for years to come and knows the emails that would go un-replied and the phone calls that would go unanswered._

 _The bird flies back in, lands a little way away from him and dodges the busy feet that pay it no mind. Its dark eyes fix his way. With a shake of his head he walks past the bird and exits the airport, ignores the mourning dove that flies on ahead and turns away from the direction that it had taken..._

* * *

He looked from the doctor to back at his friend. The slight wheeze in his breathing cut harshly into the silence as the oxygen mask misted with each exhale Aramis managed. The overhead light at the head of the bed had thrown his friend's flushed features in sharp relief, accentuating the shadows under his eyes that were as dark as the eyelashes that fanned over them.

"But he was getting better," Porthos said.

"In his condition an infection is an ever present possibility."

"Is that why he's not waking up?" Athos asked.

His voice sounded small, confused and Porthos laid a hand at the back of his friend's shoulder. It had been seven days since that phone call that had brought them to this hospital, in that time the only sign of consciousness Aramis had shown was a reaction to the tests that the doctor had administered. The voluntary movements had only been a twitch of his fingers and a protest against the breathing tube two days ago.

"He's coming around," Porthos said, "he wanted off the vent remember?"

"That was just a reflex of his lungs working properly again,"

Porthos bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at the man and his friend's blue eyes widened at the realization of his own words. Athos shook his head slightly and ran a hand through his hair, his chin dropping to his chest as he took a slow breath. Porthos turned to Doctor O'Brian.

"So is this infection the reason?" he asked.

"I'm afraid he had been gradually declining into a coma," Doctor O'Brian said, "our tests this evening showed little reaction to outside stimuli. And this infection is a setback that might push him into a coma completely."

Porthos' eyes narrowed as his hands clenched into fists by his side, his chin raised slightly in defiance.

"He won't – he would –" he cleared his throat, "it's Aramis."

And that was the best reason he knew why his brother would pull through this. Because Aramis was a survivor and he would survive.

"But you need to keep the possibility in mind," Doctor O'Brian said, "If his condition worsens we may have to put him back on the vent."

He was surprised when he heard a chuckle from beside him. Porthos glanced at Athos as the man produced a dry sound somewhere between wonder and derision. Blue eyes lifted to meet the doctor's with just a hint of challenge as the man shifted until his shoulder bumped with Porthos'.

"It's Aramis," Athos said.

Porthos felt an amused upwards tilt to the corner of his own lips as a tired smile graced his friend's features. The Doctor seemed to understand what this was, a fool's hope; but Porthos couldn't explain it to her that it was _their_ fool they held out the hope for and that's what made it so formidable.

The rest of the explanations and medical jargons that came their way were easier to handle with that to hold onto. As the doctor left them for the night Porthos turned back to their friend with a sigh. He let Athos take the nearest chair and rounded the bed to sit on Aramis' other side, crossed his arms before his chest and glared at the unconscious man.

"We are waiting 'Mis," he said, "we're not giving up so you bloody well fight your way out of this."

The lack of reply rang hollow in his heart.

Porthos sat forwards and grasped the limp hand, mindful of the IV stuck to the back of it as he cradled it between both his hands. Refused to acknowledge the prickle in his eyes at the cool skin against his own and let his brow rest against the knuckles that had scabbed over.

"Fight Aramis," he said, "come back to us brother,"

* * *

 _...his eyes remain closed as he rolls onto his back and searches for the mobile phone that buzzes somewhere on his person. Pulls it out of the pocket at the front of the plaid shirt he is wearing and blindly presses it to his ear._

" ' _llo,"_

" _How dare you?"_

" _Wha –?" he frowns, sits up and wipes at his face._

" _What did you tell her?"_

" _Porthos?"_

 _It has been ten months since he had heard his friend's voice; their last communication was the email he had sent to him about six weeks ago. He rubbed at his eyes and smacked his own face lightly to get himself to focus, Porthos was yelling at him about minding his own business._

" _What're you talking about?"_

" _You told her about the fights!"_

 _There is silence._

 _His own breath gets lost in his lungs while Porthos breathes heavily. His friend had denied whenever he had asked in the emails but he had suspected even when he had hoped that he was wrong, that his friend was not away on a different continent and pitting himself against others in bets._

" _You bloody idiot! Gambling on your life while you're half a world away!" anger flares hot in his veins, "What were you thinking Porthos? Don't you care for your Mum?"_

" _Oh like you care," Porthos counters, "you told her about it when she can do nothing but worry."_

" _Then stop being an idiot and tell her that you've come to your senses,"_

" _She wasn't supposed to know!"_

" _I didn't tell her!"_

" _Then why was she asking me if I was doing something I shouldn't?"_

" _I don't know," it comes out in a whisper._

 _He draws a hand through his hair and tugs at it; he hadn't told Mrs. Du Vallon what he had read between the lines, had only called out Porthos on it. He hadn't even told her about the silence that had followed that email._

" _I've signed up for another project," Porthos says, "I'll be back in two months, just don't go about tattling to Mum,"_

 _The line goes dead._

 _Lowering the phone he rubs at his face again and wonders if should call Athos, if he could be the one to talk some sense into their friend. His other best friend doesn't receive the call but at least it goes to voice mail instead of his girlfriend, she always sounds distracted when she answers Athos' phone._

" _Hey Athos, the same message again in case the last two messages missed you. Call me," he pauses, "it's about Porthos," because he hopes that at least would get Athos to talk to him._

 _Ending the call he falls back on the bed, curls on his side and chases the sleep that eludes him now. The sound of tapping on glass has him sitting up. Frowning he focuses on the pinkish brown bird at his window; the bird is hopping on the landing of the fire-escape staircase and looks straight back at him._

 _Something nags at him, taps at the back of his mind like the small beak rapping against his window. The alarm sounds on his phone and he gets up, wonders if the bird would like some bread crumbs and decides to leave out some before he leaves for his class..._

...he sank, went under as the cold nipped his skin.

Aramis watched as the light faded, dimmed from gold to dark brown to black. Somewhere there was a sense of wrongness to it but he was tired. Too tired to fight the oblivion seeping over him and he slipped like a pebble to the lakebed...

... _Lemay hates him._

 _He doesn't know why but he intends to enjoy it, likes that he can make the man scowl by a single raised eyebrow and half a smirk. But he isn't smiling, isn't teasing when he finds Lemay wringing his hands at the sight of the unresponsive young woman rolled in by the paramedics._

 _He pulls him aside when the doctors take over and frowns when the older man doesn't shove off his touch._

" _You know her," it's not a question._

 _Dark eyes shine with unshed tears, there is no denial there._

" _It's El, my sister," he blinks and lets the tears fall, "my baby sister,"_

 _He squeezes the shoulder under his grasp and maneuvers the man towards the washroom. The next fifteen minutes he spends listening to Lemay explain his worry for his sibling in between tears and dry heaves._

 _When he sees a mourning dove fly out the washroom door he thinks nothing of it..._

...it was nice in a way.

There was no pain where he was, no worries, no fears.

Just this sense like he was forgetting something...

... _it's a small ceremony._

 _They had driven down to meet her family last week but only her parents are here now. Isabelle has wanted it that way, she is twenty one and has her life planned out to every dot on the i's and every cross on the t's. He is eighteen and he loves her._

 _Mrs. Du Vallon hugs him after he is officially married; Lemay shakes his hand, huffs and smiles when Aramis pulls him in an embrace instead. There are pieces missing in this picture, dear pieces that had been lost for over a year now and he wonders if he will ever find them again, buried between sofa cushions or tucked in the edge of windowpanes..._

...the silence remained.

The darkness did not.

Like a scene out of some disaster movie a cold, freezing white rolled out under his feet, washed over him in a gust and smoothed out around him...

... _he rises from the snow like the dead from their grave. Gasps and struggles until he can crawl out of the small white tomb he had been in. Moving on his hands and knees he tries to catch his breath that lances in his chest with each inhale and exhale. Sits back on his heels and braces the cracked ribs in his side as he forces himself to calm down. He shivers despite the insulated clothes and wiping at his goggles he looks around to see what remains around him after the avalanche._

 _There by the tufts of treetops that crop out of the snow are the two boys, pointing and waving as they stare back at him._

 _Athos and Porthos._

 _The names echo in his mind like words from a lost folktale._

 _Porthos and Athos._

 _Names that stir like dust motes in the corners of his memory._

 _A loud coo follows the sound of wings cutting the air and he watches the bird swoop low towards the young ones. And Aramis runs after it, slipping and falling and staggering back up in the loose snow. He keeps his eyes fixed onto the bird that is following the two boys._

 _He runs until his chest hurts and dark spots flash in his vision. He runs until his ears are filled with the noise of birds cooing and scratching and pecking and flapping their wings in lazy irritation. He runs until he stops with a gasp; bends over to catch his breath and finds himself in the room at his father's house._

 _He looks around at the open cages and the large flock of mourning doves filling the room._

 _It hits him then that in his excitement he had forgotten to open the window, the birds can't fly away if there is no way out of the room. But the window ledges are set higher than his head and the latch is even higher. Looking about he spots the upturned silver pail by the far wall and shooing away the winged creatures he makes his way over._

 _The door bursts open then._

 _In the swarm of flapping wings he catches sight of his father too late. The man is already standing over him and the fist to the side of his face drops him to the floor._

– _Marsac is cursing in his ear as he pulls at him, drags him into the trees. He blinks against the sticky warmth clinging to the side of his face –_

– _his eye hurts as he gets to his feet dizzily and pushes the pail towards the first window. The birds fly out of his way and he stops only when the pail hits the wall and clambers on top of it. Rises on his toes and pushes the latch open –_

– _Marsac shakes his head, grabs his chin to make him catch the blue eyes roving over his face._

" _There's nothing we can do to help them," he says._

 _He shakes his head and forces his feet to move again, loses his footing as the entire world lurches and he shoots out a hand to find his balance against a tree._

" _Damnit Aramis stop!" –_

– _but he doesn't. There is no time before his father comes back, or sends one of the staff to put the birds back in their cages._

 _He hops down from the pail when the second window is pushed open and runs at the mourning doves, flapping his arms about and whooping at them to make them take flight. The birds scatter, fly and slide against the walls that hold no footing for them to perch on. He screams at them, yells at them to fly away._

 _Laughs when the first bird lands on the window ledge, urges the rest to follow and watches with wonder as they take to the blue open air._

 _And then the first shot rings out –_

– " _There's no one left to help Aramis," says Marsac._

 _Twenty men dead, murdered, slaughtered, his jaw clenches to keep down the rising bile._

 _Twenty friends gone. –_

– _he balances on the pail even as shot after shot rings out; watches with the eye not swollen shut as his father brings down the fleeing birds. Blood and death rains from the sky –_

– _he is on his knees when the muzzle of a weapon presses against him. Piercing blue eyes look down at him in contempt –_

– _balling his hands into fists he runs out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door and into the garden –_

– _the side of his face is pressed against the snow on the ground, he blinks to clear the haze in his vision and catches the flash of bright green as Marsac's ID tags fall –_

– _he stands alone in a garden littered with dead mourning doves –_

– _he lies alone in a clearing littered with dead soldiers –_

...the pain clamped down on his shoulder, buried its teeth in his flesh and scraped at the bone.

He gasped and tried to escape, arched his back right off the surface it had lain upon as a shrill screech filled the air. Hands held him down, voices flew above his head and Aramis opened his eyes.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. All of you who leave me reviews, Thank you! I'm excited to hear what you have to say and your words are read over and over. Thank you guest reviewers, Guest, Jmp, Jessica, Dee and Sal; your comments left me amazed and elated, thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

He rubbed at his eyes in the dimly lit room. Shifted in his chair and stretched out his legs, wincing as the blood flowed past his knees in a flash of pins jabbing under his skin. The steady beep of the heart monitor sounded loud in the silence and he glanced at the man sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed; Porthos had his arms crossed before him and his chin had dropped to his chest a while ago. Athos' gaze flicked towards the clock on the wall that had measured out their days here with an imposing disinterest. He felt torn between urging it to speed up to put an end to this wait and willing it to slow down so that hope remained.

With a quiet sigh his eyes drifted back to his unconscious friend on the bed, from the limp hands to the lax features that spoke of a defeat none of them were ready to accept. Wiping a hand over his face Athos grimaced at the beard that he hadn't bothered trimming and squeezed the back of his neck, head hanging low between his shoulders at the weight of the sorrow that pulled at him.

A rough inhale serrated the air and Athos's head shot up. His eyes widened as he pushed to his feet, the chair's screech audible under the racing beeps of the heart monitor even as his friend's back arched off the bed.

"Aramis!"

Athos reached out in a prayer and a plea, vaguely aware of Porthos doing the same as Aramis struggled against the wires and tubes that pulled the medical equipment into a rattle. Athos scrambled to reach the call button for help.

"You're safe 'Mis. You're safe, you're safe;" said Porthos, "there's nothing to be scared of."

His voice was pitched in fear as his hands hovered over Aramis' bandaged left side, too willing and too unsure in help. But Aramis arched off the bed again; fisting the sheets in a white knuckled grip and eyes clenched shut as a low groan pressed passed his closed jaw. The pained sound broke through the sudden daze Athos had found himself in and he held down on his friend by his good shoulder.

"Please Aramis please," Athos had no idea what he was asking for, "please, please,"

" 'Mis listen to me. We're here, you're safe,"

And Aramis gasped like he hadn't breathed in years.

His eyes opened wide abruptly, dark and wild before he flinched and squeezed them shut again. Athos felt the strength drain from the muscle under his grasp as his friend slumped. The sudden compliance dropped like a jagged rock in his stomach and Athos' hold tightened, he had to stop himself from giving the injured man a shake.

"Aramis?" he prodded.

"C'mon Mis, don't do that," Porthos coaxed, "open your eyes,"

"Aramis can you open your eyes?" it was a woman's voice and Athos started.

He wondered where she had appeared from as she pressed the demand again, gentle and professional. Athos blinked as someone grasped his arm, pried loose the fingers that held onto his friend as someone else nudged him aside; someone asked him to step outside and Athos suddenly found himself staring at the closed door of Aramis' room.

Porthos' hold on his arm had him stepping away as Doctor O'Brian hurried in without so much as a glance towards them. Athos stumbled back until his back hit the wall behind him and he let the fixture take his weight, his knees seemed incapable of that duty at the moment.

"That was – that's good right?" Porthos asked.

"He's awake," it left him with a tinge of wonder.

He forced his eyes away from the door and onto the face before him as Porthos grasped him by the shoulders, concern clear in his eyes.

"You're trembling," his friend said.

Athos crossed his arms and tucked his hands at his sides as he raised a challenging brow towards his brother; he had not missed the quivering in the big man's hands that held onto him.

"So are you,"

Porthos shrugged and let go, he moved to stand beside him and although Athos was grateful for the shoulder that pressed against his own he had no idea who was leaning on whom. Letting the back of his head press against the wall he closed his eyes and forced the racing beat of his own heart to calm down.

"A week of unconsciousness and he comes around fighting," Porthos snorted lightly, "what happened to the gentle press of a hand and eyes fluttering open?"

Athos gave him a sideways glare.

"Do I need to monitor your television habits?" he asked.

Porthos smiled even as he shook his head, his dark eyes staring ahead at the closed door.

"I just wasn't expecting that," he said.

Athos followed his line of sight.

"Neither was I,"

And that was the truth of it; the violent awakening had left a lingering fear in his heart, a tense uncertainty that came with every step up on a wobbly ladder where the wood threatened to break under the weight with each squeak. Athos could feel this nameless void curl around the two of them and urged the door ahead to open again.

It did after twenty two minutes.

Athos hadn't realized he had been keeping time.

He pushed away from the wall and followed Porthos as Doctor O'Brian emerged from Aramis' room. Her smile didn't have that forced lift to it and Athos found himself swallowing hard.

"He woke up right?" Porthos asked.

"Sedated right now but yes your friend did wake up," Doctor O'Brian said, "he was awake for about seven minutes which is remarkable. His eyes tracked movement if a bit slowly and he was responding to his name before he fell asleep which is an impressive improvement at such an early stage. But remember it's just a start. Coming out of a coma is a step by step progress, you must not expect him be back to his normal self soon."

"But this means he's improving," Athos could not help but insist.

"So far, yes,"

"Then that's what we'll hold on to," Porthos nodded.

They thanked the doctor and went in to wait for their friend to breach the surface again. Athos closed the door softly after them and turned around only to bump into Porthos. Frowning slightly at the man who had stopped in his tracks Athos stepped aside quickly to find a reason that he hoped wouldn't be any of the horrible scenarios that were flashing in his mind.

What he saw left him stuck in the spot as well.

Aramis was looking back at him. From where he was laying back against the raised head of the hospital bed his face was turned towards the door and his eyes were opened at half mast, set onto the two of them. Feeling oddly tense Athos felt his breath lock in his lungs as Porthos moved ahead and the dark eyes shifted onto the big man.

"Finally," Porthos said, voice coming out hoarse, "we've been waiting ages for you 'Mis,"

But Aramis simply stared.

Although his face held no expression there was still recognition in his gaze even if it was dampened by exhaustion. He looked from Porthos who had grasped his good shoulder to back at Athos, dark eyes drinking them in like he hadn't seen the two of them in years.

But then his eyes flicked away. As Athos neared the bed he couldn't help but glance at the corner his friend was staring at.

"Aramis?"

His friend looked his way again and Athos felt relief wash over him.

"Good to have you back mon frère," he said.

Reached out to lay a hand on his brother's arm, needing to feel the proof of his presence.

But Aramis simply held his gaze before looking back at the corner. If it had been a blank look Athos was sure he would have been more comfortable, would have apportioned it to the lingering effects of the coma, but Aramis' gaze was intent. It was focused and even a little curious.

"What're you lookin' at?" Porthos asked.

His hand cupped the side of Aramis' face and gently maneuvered the gaze back onto them; the big man ducking slightly to meet it head on. Their friend made no comment; his blank face gave no clue to his thoughts but Athos felt a trickle down his spine at the undercurrents of confusion in Aramis' eyes.

"We're here brother," Porthos said, "We've got you,"

But the words prompted no response and Athos felt an inexplicable sense of loss as Aramis' eyes slipped close again.

* * *

It took him a few seconds to realize that the car had stopped. Forcing his mind to the present Porthos unbuckled the seat belt and leaned forward to get a better look at the building before them. It was habitable but rundown, something that he had expected.

"Tell me again why we are helping this man," he asked.

"Because his mother asked the Captain and we were going stir crazy at the office," Athos said.

"I don't think this sort of distraction is a wise choice," Porthos looked to his friend, "not when I'm itching to hit something."

Athos' lips were pursed when he turned to him with a raised eyebrow, his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

"I know, I know but it's just –" Porthos shook his head.

"I know," Athos said.

And just like that Porthos felt his anger deflate, because if there was anyone who understood his frustration it was Athos. Sitting back in the seat he tried to pull his mind back onto the task from where it was stuck in Aramis' hospital room.

It had been four days since their friend had gained consciousness but Aramis had yet to say a word. While the doctors were still looking for the reason behind it, the ones behind the attack during the training exercise were also still at large; there had been no solid lead to identify the culprits. With his hands clenched into fists where they rested on his knees Porthos forced down the desire for a violent outlet, they had enough to handle without him adding to their troubles.

He was surprised when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"You heard the doctor; they're surprised how quickly he is recovering." Athos said, "He's able to stand without support now,"

"That shouldn't be an achievement," he snapped, realized what he had done and shook his head, "sorry brother, you didn't deserve that."

"It's unfair that he had been knocked down so hard," Athos nodded.

He sighed and squeezed his shoulder in silent camaraderie before he exited the car, the anger and worry a lingering trail after him.

Porthos took a slow bracing breath and followed him out, he had not been blind to identify in his friend what he had tried to conceal in himself every time they had witnessed Aramis gain back piece by piece what he had lost so suddenly. In every longer spell of wakefulness, every upgrade of food from liquid to solid, every shaky step taken while they helped their brother walk was a moment that filled them both with pride but left a bitter aftertaste. Because such ordinary abilities should not be something that Aramis had to relearn.

With a shake of his head at that thought Porthos dodged the man leaving the building and hastened up the stairs after Athos, narrowly avoiding bumping into the man hurrying down. They turned into the corridor lit only by the thin winter sunlight that the window in the far wall allowed in. Going through the fading numbers on the doors they stopped to knock on the one they had come looking for.

It opened ajar and a sharp nose under a set of pale eyes poked out.

"What?"

"Marc James?"

"Who's asking?"

"We're from Treville's Security, Investigations and Retrieval Company. Your mother came to us on your behalf,"

The door closed with a snap before it opened fully. The thin figure stepped away and motioned them in, closing and locking the door after them. His jaw working furiously around a chewing gum the man nodded towards the stained couch as he took a seat opposite them.

"I knew I could trust Mum to help me," he said, "I'm Marc,"

"Porthos, that's Athos. We were told you wanted us to look for someone,"

"Yes, yes," Marc pulled a picture from his wallet, "Carrie's my girlfriend and I think someone kidnapped her,"

Porthos took the small picture and glanced at Athos.

"How can you be so sure?"

"She went out yesterday for groceries but never came back," he said between the chewing, "I looked for her last night,"

"She could have gone anywhere out of her own choice," Athos said.

"She's not answering my calls," he rolled the gum between his teeth and wiped at his mouth, "and she didn't go back to her home, I checked."

Porthos could feel the vein at the side of his head pulse, rubbing at the spot he handed the picture to Athos and turned to the man they had been sent to. Trying to ignore the chomping he looked the man in the eye and found the fear in there to be honest. It softened the irritation that had been bubbling in him.

"So far I don't see any reason to call it a kidnapping," he said, "If you're still unsure contact the police,"

"I can't,"

"Why not?" Athos asked, "At this early a stage they are your best bet at finding your girlfriend."

Marc huffed, reached out to grab the sealed box on the table and pulling out a packet of chewing gum folded three sticks into his mouth before offering them to the other two. Porthos shook his head before his friend could voice the cutting remark he could see forming in his mind.

"Sam brought a new pack for me this morning, he always enabled the habit as Mum called it when we were younger," Marc explained, "his father owned the shop round the corner from here you know,"

"What are you not telling Marc?" Athos asked, "There must be a reason you called us here other than to offer us chewing gum."

"Carrie's a goldsmith," the man wiped at his mouth, "and she, the two of us, we don't usually work the official way."

"So she's involved in something illegal," Porthos nodded, "and you think that's landed her in trouble,"

"You have to find her please," Marc said, "we've known each other since we were teenagers; she wouldn't disappear on me like this."

Porthos didn't even have to look at his friend to know that they will be helping this man after that plea. They could not turn this man away, not when they'd narrowly escaped the loss of one of their own old friend. With a sigh he sat forwards and picked up the woman's picture from where Athos had set it on the coffee table.

"Is there anything you can tell us about her new job?" he asked.

"She didn't say who or what she was working for but I have an address where she's working from," Marc blinked rapidly and shook his head, "but she wasn't there either, I went to check there too."

Athos took out a pen from his coat pocket and plucking the picture of the woman from Porthos' grip placed it face down on the table. He tapped at the blank space and handed the pen to Marc.

"Her full name and the address and anything else you think could be useful,"

Marc nodded and hurried to jot down the details, coughing hard as he did. He wheezed and coughed out the chewing gum but swayed suddenly where he sat. Porthos reached out to steady him just as the man crumpled. He hurried to loosen the shirt's collar around the Marc's throat even as Athos rang for help.

Marc gasped and shuddered and by the time Athos ended the call, he was still.

Porthos pressed his fingers to search for a heartbeat, closing his eyes when there was none.

"What just happened?" Athos crouched down beside him, "Is he –?"

Porthos shook his head and eased the still form onto the floor. Athos looked back up at him before he got to his feet and looked around.

"Poisoned?" he asked, "or a medical conditioned we didn't know about?"

"Poisoned," Porthos nodded towards the glob of gum lying on the table.

They waited until the police had no more questions, until the body was rolled away and the area taped up. Porthos sat silently as Athos gave his report to the Captain at the office and tried not to feel the lingering weight on his arms of the man who had lost his life in his grasp. Taking out Carrie's picture from his pocket he went over the half scribbled address, he had toyed with the ideas where this could lead them and decided to ask Serge for help in filling out the remaining information.

"Porthos?"

He looked up to find the Captain studying him.

"Anything you might like to add?" asked his boss.

Porthos shook his head, hopping the man wouldn't ask him the specifics since he hadn't been paying attention to the discussion. The Captain ran a critical eye over him and nodded to himself before he held out his hand. An eloquently raised eyebrow answering the surprise Porthos was sure was visible on his face.

"The address you got for Carrie's work place, I'll have Serge run it through for a possible match." He said, "You two are done for the day."

"But –"

"Athos I have no use for the two of you when you're dead on your feet," Treville's voice softened, "and I'm waiting for your complete team to be sent out in the field,"

Porthos nodded; let his gaze drop to the floor lest it showed the wet shine burning there. The silent assurance that there was light at the end of this, that there was a future out of the painfully slow progress hit him in the hollow under his lungs.

"Right, thank you Captain we'll –" Athos cleared his throat, "we'll see you tomorrow,"

But they both knew neither of them was headed home. They had been living a life in shifts it seemed, taking turns at staying at the hospital and at their residence, sometimes simply crashing at each other's place without any forethought. So it was a given that as the evening set in they were pulling into the parking lot at the hospital.

When he entered Aramis' room Porthos felt his stomach clench at the sight of the nurses and Doctor O'Brian hovering by the bed.

"Relax, it's nothing to worry about," the woman singed off the chart and handed it to one of the nurses, "he's just wiped out from the physical therapy and we're setting up the fluids again, no need to look like that,"

"I'm afraid we can't help jumping to the worst conclusions," Athos said.

"I can understand that, but he is progressing far quickly than anticipated;" Doctor O'Brian stepped away from the bed, "and we had a breakthrough today," she smiled, "Aramis talked."

Porthos grabbed the nearest chair by the edge of the backrest and let it take his weight; the floor under his feet was a puddle of jelly suddenly. He looked at the sleeping form resting on the tipped up bed; the color that was returning to the face could not hide the deep shadows under the eyes, nor the edge of the bones that were becoming less prominent as the hollowed cheeks filled out. It was a far sight from the bright human being he knew but the kernel that he knew to be his brother was sparking again and that was a relief that crashed into him in waves.

"What did he say?"

"He simply responded to the therapist's questions," Doctor O'Brian said, "and when I received the news he was speaking again we ran some tests to check for any damage to the brain; which I'm pleased to say there isn't any."

"Oh thank God," it left Athos in a whoosh of exhale.

He sat down on the chair Porthos had been holding and rubbed a hand down his face. When he looked up again the blue of his eyes shone with a wet sheen but Porthos hadn't the heart to call him on it.

"No lingering impairments?" Athos asked.

"None so far that we could spot,"

Porthos patted Athos on the shoulder even as he tried to form the question that had been lurking at the back of his mind, fueled by his need to get some retribution for his friend's suffering. He pulled his gaze away from Aramis and decided to face the answer he both dreaded and desired head on.

"Does he remember what happened?" he asked, "about how he ended up in here?"

"He didn't mention it and we didn't push that far." Doctor O'Brian said, a small frown appeared on her face, "But he did ask if Marsac was here?"

Porthos looked to Athos just as the man glanced his way. They hadn't heard much from Aramis' Officer Commanding but the last they had talked Marsac had still been missing. There were unsavory rumors going about that Porthos wished for the sake of the missing man to be untrue. If there was proof that Marsac had deserted or been a part of this attack he would be very lucky if he never crossed paths with Porthos.

"Marsac was with him during the exercise," Athos explained.

Doctor O'Brian nodded, "I remember the Major mentioning him to be missing,"

"So what did you tell Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"That I would see if someone of that name was brought in,"

"He must have been with him, when –" Porthos swallowed, "when it happened,"

"That's good. It's another proof that he does have memories from before the event," Doctor O'Brain said, "so his long term memory is intact. And it isn't odd for people to forget the actual traumatic incident that leaves them gravely injured."

Porthos wished he could look into his brother's mind and see what he was thinking about; that he could dwell into the drug induced sleep and be sure that the medicine hadn't just trapped Aramis in nightmares he had been prone to even before this massacre. He walked over to the free chair once the doctor left and slumped into it. Running a hand through his tight curls he tried his best to hold off his impatience, his eyes searching for any sign of his friend waking up as the need to simply talk to the man stirred afresh.

"You never did do anything easy 'Mis," he muttered, "I'll give you that."

* * *

The boys were snickering again.

He glanced in their direction to find them whispering together in the corner and then glanced back at the nurse checking his IV line. It was not needed as far as he was concerned but no one seemed to care for his opinion on the matter. Aramis merely nodded as the nurse talked; just because he had found his voice that had been evading him he still felt no need to waste words. Words that he would need to use to convince Doctor O'Brian to let him out of here.

He needed to find out what had happened, needed to know what this accident at the training exercise was that had left him with a bullet punching through his bones. Because he didn't remember any accidents; only flashes of cold fear, the shivery sense of a last stand and an overwhelming stench of blood. Aramis blinked and stilled his fingers that had been tracing the healing scar at the side of his head.

Death had settled as an inquisitive presence in every beat of his heart, too close and too real.

He needed to know how many it had claimed.

Needed to find out if there was another living dead pulled from the wreck SAVOY.

The Doctor had told him that there was no Marsac brought in with him and Aramis hadn't the heart to list the twenty other names that were etched into his mind. Like deep scratches on a cold stone that turned red as he went over them in his thoughts.

He wondered if Porthos and Athos were keeping his Officer Commanding at bay.

"Is there anything you need my help with?" the nurse asked.

He shook his head.

There were too many questions and not enough words.

His thoughts were pulled away by the door opening.

"If he does I'll see to it while I'm here," George Lemay offered the woman a brief smile before turning to Aramis; "I see those two weren't exaggerating."

He rolled close the overbed table as the nurse left and Aramis wondered if he was seeing things that weren't there; he glanced at the boys talking by the window and reminded himself that he actually was. His attention was snagged as Lemay upended the box that he had been carrying under his arm onto the table, making sure none of the puzzle pieces that spilled out would be lost.

With a gentle shove at Aramis' leg under the covers he made space for himself at the edge of the bed where he took his place and started to look for the pieces to join. Aramis stared at the box that displayed a ginger cat sitting at the window and recognized it as the puzzle he had once bought to draw El out of the defenses she had closed herself in.

Lemay didn't look up from his work as he offered a derisive snort.

"I've been told by my sister that I can learn something from you," he said.

As if he had seen the recognition in Aramis' eyes.

Deciding that he would sort out the boys' presence later Aramis shifted a little, winced as broken bones and sore muscles twanged in protest. He cradled the arm resting in the sling closer to his sore ribs as he sat forwards. Picking up the nearest piece with the hand not hindered by the sling, he ignored the way Lemay stilled at his movement and went about setting all the pieces face up.

"Ah yes, the first rule," Lemay nodded, head still bent in concentration, "El hates it when I don't follow that."

Aramis nodded.

He made sure that the pile was flattened out so that the fragments of the picture were visible.

... _he laughs as Marsac wipes off the powdery white from his face; the men gape at him as he scoops up another handful of snow and throws it at the man's head again..._

...Aramis blinked rapidly, his fingers hovering over the pieces.

"Sophie wanted to know when you could come for a visit so I tried calling you on your mobile phone. Do you know Porthos is the one carrying it around these days?"

He breathed out and shrugged his good shoulder; it wasn't surprising that Porthos was doing that. Aramis placed a piece of what he knew was the window and looked for the rest of it; the residue from the puzzle piece that left a glittering trail on his fingertips was a surprise.

He stared at his friend eyebrows raised until the man looked up at him and shrugged.

"Beth is going through a princess phase," he said.

Aramis' lips twitched upwards before he resumed his search.

... _he stops by the body lying in a red pool on white, knows there will be others..._

...he picked up the piece he needed and stared at it, wondered if he should touch the delicate bindings of his memory, knowing instinctually that there was a heartache wrapped there.

"They weren't lying about you not talking to them either," Lemay said.

Aramis looked away.

And found the young Athos and Porthos listening intently to what his friend had to say, their expressions the same as he had seen them in the classroom when he was their age, in another time. He wanted to ask them why they were here.

"They're worried," Lemay said.

The boys nodded in unison.

Aramis' jaw twitched under the strain of words that would not come and the voice that he seemed to have in a suddenly limited supply. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to them; it was just that there was too much to ever be voiced meaningfully. With them there were too many answers. Too many words; he wasn't sure he had the strength for that, wasn't sure he would do it justice.

"Aramis? Hey it's alright if you don't want to talk," Lemay grasped his wrist.

His words brought Aramis to the fact that he was shivering.

"Calm down before I get thrown out of here," Lemay said.

His tone was light but the way he had his fingers pressed onto the pulse point, a part of Aramis knew that the man was monitoring his heartbeat; the rest of him just tried to order his lunges to function again. When he did manage to pull in a decent breath it was to find himself staring up at the ceiling. Aramis rolled his head onto the pillow he didn't remember lying down on and frowned at Lemay at his side.

"Don't give me that look," his friend said, "I'm this close to calling the nurse to give you a sedative,"

Aramis turned his head at the sound of the door opening but found his gaze skittering away when he saw who it was who had arrived.

"What is it?"

"Something happened?"

"Should I get the nurse?"

"The doctor?"

Aramis flinched as Athos and Porthos spoke over each other in their haste.

"He's fine," Lemay said, "a little worked up that's all."

"Did they tell you something?"

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Do you remember something?"

Aramis breathed through his nose and swallowed thickly as he felt the words rise like bile up to his mouth ready to spill out, only to get trapped somewhere in his throat. The need to speak and the sudden incapacitating fear of it left him in cold sweat. He closed his eyes and focused on the grounding pressure on his wrist.

"What's wrong 'Mis?"

"You're not looking good, what happened?"

"You two happened," Lemay snapped.

Aramis opened his eyes just in time to catch the surprise on Athos and Porthos' faces. The weight of their gazes had him looking away.

"Would you step out with me for a minute?" there was no room for denial in his tone but when Lemay turned to Aramis his voice had lost the edge, "and you need to get your strength back up before Beth comes for a visit," he said.

But Aramis found no happiness in the thought, not when he saw the confused worried faces of his brothers before they followed Lemay out. His mouth worked to call them back, to reassure them, to answer all the questions they had but no sound came out. Aramis grit his teeth in frustration and wondered what was wrong with him.

* * *

He clicked through the various web pages that were open on his laptop screen as his tired brain picked out the expressions that seemed to be the common thread in his search. Athos dug his knuckles into his eyes and shifted on the barstool he was perched on.

"So selective mutism is to do with anxiety, which apparently we add to when we're around him," he said, pulling his eyes away from the screen and onto his friend, "children usually find themselves incapable of speech in settings like school but talk fine where they feel safe like at home. But I don't remember Aramis going through it as a child."

"Maybe he went through it when he was at home," Porthos didn't look up from where he was piping the mixture into the molds, "knowing his father, suppose it was opposite for him?"

Athos frowned at the screen, not liking being compared to that man even indirectly.

"And now it's appearing again under stress," he nodded to himself.

"But why around us?"

Athos had to close his eyes against the hollow pain in those words. He had been surprised and even a little insulted when Lemay had called them out for adding to the stress for their brother, it was oddly disconcerting to find that Aramis had another friend who apparently understood him. And yet Athos could not deny that their friend had spoken to strangers but to none of the people he knew, even Lemay as Porthos had pointed out with thinly veiled satisfaction.

It seemed that the people he was supposed to talk to were the ones Aramis wasn't able to find his words for.

Athos could confess to himself that it was scaring him more than he was letting on.

The loud clatter had him looking up to find Porthos cursing roundly even as he stuck his hand under the running tap. At his feet was a trey full of freshly baked cupcakes, many having shaken loose from the impact with the floor. Porthos grumbled under his breath; Athos closed the laptop that he had shifted onto the barstool beside him hours ago in order to make room for the increasing pile of baked goods.

Taking out the first aid box from the cabinet he rolled his eyes when his friend took it from his grasp with a growl and proceeded to apply the salve onto his burnt fingers.

"I think you're done for the night," Athos said.

He began sorting out the disaster sight.

"I still have one more batch to go,"

"And what do you plan to do with this mountain you've created?"

"I'll take it to the hospital," Porthos said, "to thank the staff for having to put up with us,"

"You always have a plan for your yield when you go on a baking spree," Athos shook his head.

"What can I say," Porthos shrugged, "there's always room in this world for cupcakes,"

Athos slid the final batch into the oven and regarded his friend, wondered if he looked as bad as the big man did. With a sigh he began creating a neat lineup of the cupcakes, falling into a soothing rhythm as Porthos joined in with the hand that was not burned.

"I think we're finally getting close to the address that Marc gave us," Athos said.

"Feels like we're getting shut down at everything we do," Porthos muttered.

"There is only so much space that can fall under one half written address," Athos said, "we'll find her workplace soon enough."

He began collecting the bowls, spoons and spatulas that were dotted with the mixture Porthos had whipped up. He dumped them in the sink and ran the tap to soak them as his friend wiped down the counter; bundling up the trash before he came to stand beside him. Athos studied him from the corner of his eye, not liking the way the broad shoulders sagged as his friend leaned back against the ledge.

"Taking turns staying with him doesn't seem much productive now," Porthos said.

Athos did not want to think of Aramis getting to go back to his home come tomorrow, simply because he feared the same as his friend beside him. He focused his attention onto doing the dishes instead and handed them off to Porthos to dry.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,"

"It's not as far away as we'd like," Porthos said.

By the time they were done cleaning up the kitchen that took most of the space in Porthos' flat, Athos could feel every creek from the weariness set like rust in his joints. His feet carried him to the sofa where he sat down slowly, careful not to stoke the headache that was flaring behind his eyes. When he opened them it was to see another cupcake.

"We could both do with some sugary energy," Porthos said.

He was perched on the table, already halfway through his own snack.

"You didn't happen to create a wine flavored one?"

"And get the hospital staff drunk on duty?"

Athos huffed as he took the offering, his eyebrows rising as Porthos brushed off the crumbs and got to his feet. As the big man disappeared somewhere in the direction of his room Athos glanced at the clock, it was nearing two in the morning. He wasn't surprised when Porthos came back with a pillow under his arm and a blanket in his grasp.

Taking the offering with a silent nod of thanks Athos made himself comfortable onto the sofa. He was asleep by the time Porthos had retreated to his room.

* * *

It was serrated and oddly dull, like a thick blade of an invisible saw that was working slowly against his flesh and bones.

Aramis pressed into the mattress raised at his back and tried to ignore the sweat breaking over him. The logical side of his brain berated him for his stupidity of downplaying his level of pain just to get less of the relief medication in his bloodstream. Opening his eyes he peered in the dim light from the hallway that cut in through the almost closed door, his gaze stopping onto the two boys by the wall.

Not a drugged hallucination then, he decided.

His free hand curled into a fist at his side, wrinkling the bed sheet into tight creases as the pull on skin and muscle flared a blunt throb from the puncture site where the IV had been.

Little Porthos frowned.

His displeasure reflected in the big round eyes Athos was staring at him from…

... _he stares back._

 _Defiance making him sit taller than his slight five year old frame is used to. His lip stings, stains the hanky pressed on it still. His jaw hurts and so does his knuckles and yet he stares at them head on. He has no idea why these two had jumped in to help him, cannot understand why they are looking at him that way._

 _Ms. Bates is still on the phone; calling their parents._

 _Porthos has explained how Sam had been sprinkling salt on earthworms, Athos has explained how Rene has stopped him, they had both reported enthusiastically how Sam had thrown the first punch._

 _He has not said a word..._

...Aramis forced his fingers open and measured his breathing to calm down; it wouldn't do to have the little ones scared. He wondered if he should be scared of them.

Porthos snorted, Athos huffed.

Aramis found himself shaking his head in wonder. These two had been the bane of his existence at school in those days. He had known them to be the unspoken leaders in that innate sense of the playground that children have. Had spent weeks at the end of their pranks, some worse than others.

But nothing like what he was used to at home, harmless really...

... _he follows the rest of the children out._

 _Grinning and eager to absorb the world. He had missed this; missed coming to school, the routine, the horde of people, the sights and sounds he had missed it all. The week long suspension had left him starved for this fascinating surroundings and he is fairly thrumming with energy to run around the grounds._

 _He stops at the top of the stairs, hand grasping the railing because his back aches something fierce._

 _His father hadn't been happy with him fighting at school._

 _He hadn't tried to explain it to him how unfair of Sam it was to salt those earthworms, how their wriggling helplessness as they disappeared to nothing had angered him._

" _Rene come on, we'll race you to the swings," Porthos calls from the bottom of the stairs._

" _We can take turns on them even if you don't win," Athos offers._

 _He blinks and they are running off..._

...Aramis picked up the bottle of water from the top of the bedside cabinet, his eyes never leaving the boys who had moved to stand by the window. Taking carefully measured sips to keep the nausea at bay he let himself relax back against the pillow behind his head. He remembered now, the young Athos and Porthos he was seeing in his room were in the same clothes they had been in that day.

The day it had all started.

The day he had gained friends that would become his family.

They had come back to find him when he hadn't followed them...

... _he is still standing at the top of the stairs._

" _What's wrong?" Athos asks._

" _You're not coming to play with us?" Porthos adds._

" _I want to," he says._

 _Takes a step down, than another, his back really hurts and he gingerly makes his way down to the last step. It's worth the grin Porthos bestows on him and the smile Athos grants him with. And then they are turning back to leave but he has had enough and decides to sit down on the last step._

" _Are you sick?" Athos asks._

" _Should we take you to the –"_

" _No," he shakes his head, knows never to trust doctors and nurses, "just tired."_

 _Porthos looks back at the swing set then at Athos. The other one shrugs and then they plop down beside him, one on each side. He feels like a bubble and laughs suddenly._

" _You're weird Rene," Porthos says._

" _Call me Aramis," he replies..._

* * *

He made his way back after getting the prescription filled. Porthos met him as he turned the corner and waved the discharge papers at him like a flag of truce. Or freedom Athos mused as his friend fell in step with him, excitement a visible hum in his pace. It had been there since they had arrived to find Aramis asleep and had divided the discharge duties between themselves to let the man rest a little bit longer.

"I still think your place is a better option," Porthos said, "no stairs."

"I doubt that would be helpful when he can't even speak in our presence," Athos said.

They stopped outside of Aramis' room and Athos turned to Porthos. It was hard for them, the silence, the skittering gaze, the choppy gestures but they refused to abandon the man who would never abandon them. Athos promised himself that and could read the silent vow in the grim determination in his friend's face as well, they would not leave Aramis behind again.

"Slow and easy," Athos reminded them both, "don't crowd him."

"And not ask too many questions," Porthos nodded.

They stepped through the door and found Aramis standing by window. He looked up from trying to do the buttons of his plaid shirt single handedly. Athos wondered how he had managed to get dressed without help save for the fact that he had succeeded in doing up the buttons more than halfway up. But then Aramis gave up the task, his hand going to scratch the back of his head instead as a sheepish smile flashed on his face.

It was fleeting, gone between two blinks, but it was enough to make Athos look at Porthos and catch the surprise in the gaze that met his.

"Hi," said Aramis.

It was nearly a whisper and a rough one at that.

But it was a voice they had been waiting to hear for almost three weeks now. Athos found himself moving ahead without thinking, Porthos in stride with him. But the big man didn't stop in front of Aramis; he stepped closer and gathered their friend in an embrace.

" 'llo," he croaked, "Hello, hello, hello,"

Athos caught that hesitant almost-a-smile on Aramis' face over Porthos shoulder and swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. Waited as Porthos gave the younger man one more gentle squeeze before stepping back slightly, his hand grasping Aramis by the back of the neck even as the man ducked his head slightly, dark hair hiding his eyes.

"Hello," Porthos said.

Sniffed lightly before he let go and Aramis' brown eyes found Athos' own, not as bright as usual and with a touch of uncertainty that had them looking away too soon. But they flashed back to him when Athos grasped Aramis' good arm. His lips twitched up as if unsure of that direction and Athos felt the smile creeping on his own face at the sight, unfurling with the warmth blooming in his chest.

"Hi," he said, voice catching in his throat as he pulled his brother close.

"Hi," Aramis whispered in his shoulder.

* * *

 **Yes I know this one was long and slow, I had trouble pacing it because the chapter was fighting me every step of the way.**

 **A/N: THANK YOU everyone who left me reviews for the last chapter; Aggie2011, pallysdeeks, SupernaturalGeek, Jmp, Undertheoaktrees, Helensg, Kitperry, GoGirl212, Clara, MusketeerAdventure, Jessica, Sarah, Sue Pokorny, MJVictoria, Issai, CaroH, SandBank, Sal and Guest. Thank you all for taking the time to leave me your kind words, they mean a lot to me, and my apologies for not replying to you lovely people individually. I was unwell and when I got around to be able to stare at the laptop screen without giving myself a headache I decided it best to type out the chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: If you have read the old chapters the first time around and then waited for me to post this new chapter, I'm sincerely humbled by your patience. THANK YOU. I never imagined the gap would stretch so long - nearly 2 years, it's annoying and frustrating I know. But THANK YOU for staying with the story. I'm back in the mind-set of this 'verse so while I cannot guarantee consistent updates, I will still be working with much more focus on the next chapters to bring this one to a proper end.**

 **On with the story! [at last]**

* * *

Pale light through the fogged up windowpane teased open his eyes. He had forgotten to pull close the curtains last night and Porthos was secretly thankful for that. Rolling over in the warm covers he rummaged under his pillow for his mobile phone and switched off the alarm before it could ring. Dropping the device he drew a hand through his hair as he shifted onto his back and took a moment to let the illusion of the calm sink in. It had been a while since he had felt the bone heavy grip of a well rested night and Porthos savored the lingering moments before the day shone on the reality of their lives.

The reality that reminded him of exactly why Athos and he had taken up the free bedrooms at Aramis' flat instead of heading home the night before.

With a sigh Porthos pushed off the covers and sat up, elbow digging in his knee as he pressed the heel of his palm in his eye. He could not forget the way Aramis had sat rigid all through the ride from the hospital, could not un-see the way those dark eyes had scanned the world through the car window and flitted over the people on the sidewalk like the shifting crosshairs above an undecided sniper rifle.

Porthos shivered at that thought.

Aramis' face when they had told him Marsac was missing since the attack flashed behind his eyelids and he opened his eyes in a hurry. He had to remind himself that things were getting better, that at least their friend had started talking to them, limited though it had been in the few hours Aramis hadn't spent dozing after his return home. Pulling on a hoodie Porthos exited the room, eyeing the closed door of Aramis' bedroom opposite him before he sniffed at the distinctly burnt smell in the air. Following his nose across the flat he smiled at the figure he found perched on a chair by the kitchen island.

"Hungry are we?" he asked.

Athos dropped the blackened slice over the small pile of charred bread already on the plate before him. The blue eyes that turned to Porthos were filled with miserable irritation.

"The toaster is being contrary," Athos said.

"And the coffee maker?" Porthos asked.

Athos lifted his mug in the air.

"Is my new best friend," he said.

Porthos chuckled as he set out a mug for himself and went to the refrigerator for eggs, butter, sausages and the bread his friend hadn't scorched yet. He started on breakfast as Athos poured the coffee, scowling as the big man plucked two perfectly toasted slices of bread from the machine and popped in two more.

"I knew it hated me," Athos said.

Porthos grinned as he set out the plates for the three of them and began loading them with food. He smacked at the fork that came to steal a sausage and motioned with his head towards the kitchen door. Athos shook his head at the unspoken question.

"I thought he should sleep in," he said, "needs all the rest he can get,"

"And food," Porthos said, "you go get him while I get this done,"

As Athos slid off the chair and went away muttering something about culinary powered dictators, Porthos switched off the stove and enjoyed his coffee. Normalcy settled like a blanket over him, comforting yet oddly shrunken, as if it had left his toes exposed to the air. Porthos just knew that the old norms weren't enough anymore, no matter how it seemed in the moment, life had shifted onto a new axis again for the three of them.

His eyes narrowed at the sound of hurried footsteps and gulping down the rest of his coffee he hastened to meet Athos out in the lounge.

"He isn't home," Athos said.

"What?"

"Not in his room, not in the bathroom, I've looked everywhere" Athos explained, "Aramis is not in the flat."

Fear hit him like a cold gust and Porthos turned away from his friend with a hand in his hair, trying not to let panic take over even as it spread in tendrils under his skin. While it was far from healthy in his current state he knew Aramis liked to go for a run, a long winding one, when he needed to clear his head and Porthos reasoned with himself that that was the cause of the man's disappearance. He promised to give that idiot a piece of his mind when he returned when the sound of rattling keys had him looking to Athos again.

His friend' face had gone a shade paler as he tilted the ceramic bowl Aramis kept his keys in.

"The keys for Mercury aren't here," Athos said.

"He wouldn't," Porthos bounded up to him and stared at the keys in the bowl, "he can't even keep proper balance on his feet for a stretch. He wouldn't –" he shook his head.

"But if he did?"

Porthos would kill him himself he decided. His gut clenched at the thought of Aramis in a motorcycle accident somewhere in the city. He could not take another call from the hospital this soon. He grabbed his keys to the flat and Athos got the ones for his car as they decided to head out in an unspoken agreement to fetch their third.

Athos opened the chain lock and hurried out.

Porthos stopped; looked from his friend who was on top of the stairs by then and back at the door.

"What are you waiting for?" Athos asked.

"The door," Porthos said, "get back in here,"

Blue eyes stared at him, patience wearing thin.

"The chain lock," Porthos explained, "it was locked; from inside."

He waited a breath, memory finally working to remind him that Mercury was secure at his home even as light dawned in Athos' gaze before it darkened with a frown. His friend had searched the flat and Porthos saw confusion giving way to annoyance so he headed back to Aramis' room without a word. Not bothering to knock the two of them barraged in and looked around.

The bed was made perfectly, all neat lines and sharp creases but there was a mess of newspapers littering the floor and the curtains were pulled back from the window that gave free access to the chilly air of the morning. It prickled on his skin and cut through to Porthos' racing thoughts as his eyes settled on the open window; the window that had the landing of the fire-escape staircase right outside. From beside him Athos shook his head slowly.

"The roof," he said.

"The roof," Porthos echoed.

He squeezed out into the frosty morning and headed up with Athos at his heels. Stepping onto the roof as his breath added to the morning mist, his gaze instantly found the man sitting on the ledge; motionless like a stone carving.

"He'll catch his death up here," Athos said.

Porthos nodded even as he stepped ahead, his hands curling into fists in the pockets of his hoodie at the fact that both of Aramis' feet were hanging over the ledge as his friend stared over the rooftops. He had to tamp down on the desire to haul the man away from there.

"Did you notice that the cold has a smell?" Aramis asked.

Not looking their way, not moving at all. There was no hint that he was aware of their arrival except for his words.

"Is that what you came here for?" Porthos countered, moved closer to where his friend sat, "To smell the cold?"

Aramis still didn't look their way.

"I can't stop smelling it," he said.

"There's perfectly brewed coffee downstairs to remedy that," said Athos.

Aramis turned his head then, looking at them over his injured shoulder. A hint of a smile lifted his lips even as his eyes observing the two of them held a distinct lack of warmth. It was strange to witness the detached calculations that Porthos could tell were going on in his friend's head. He wished for the Aramis that had been staring out just seconds ago, that one felt warmer.

"You're upset," Aramis said, "both of you."

"Your disappearing act wasn't fun," Athos said.

"I'm not used to this level of monitoring in my own home,"

"Why'd you even come up here?" Porthos asked.

"Too many obstructions in the flat; I needed a clear line of sight."

Porthos frowned at the choice of words and then it hit him; the deceptively relaxed posture, the senses sharp enough in vigilance to pick up their presence even from a distance and the calm that he was exuding; this was Aramis the sniper. He glanced at Athos to find the man staring at something on Aramis' other side and shifted to get a better look himself. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Aramis' fingers resting lightly onto the weapon lying innocently at his side.

"Where did you get that?" it came out unchecked, last he remembered Athos had all their friend's weapons locked up at his place.

Aramis glanced over his good shoulder where Athos had come to stand behind him before following their gazes to the object at his side.

"A false bottom in my desk drawer," he said.

"Convenient," Athos said.

"Very," Aramis nodded.

He turned back to stare ahead like an attentive gargoyle cut out against the overcast sky. And Porthos walked to his other side; crossing his arms before him as he leaned against the ledge and studied the hard lines and sharp edges of Aramis' carefully blank face. Slowly he reached out and laid his own hand on the gun at his friend's side, feeling relieved that the man didn't seem to mind.

"Why do you need it 'Mis?" he asked.

"For safety,"

"In your own home?" Athos asked.

"Twenty dead, one missing, assailants assumed still at large since not confirmed otherwise," said Aramis, "there are all sort of theories about the motivation behind the attack, speculations that are neither confirmed nor denied."

"The newspapers," Athos breathed out.

Porthos flinched at the thought of the mess they had seen in Aramis' room and did not miss the way Athos' fingers rose to press against his forehead as he winced at the understanding that hit him as well. He watched as Athos' ran a hand through his hair before slowly, carefully he let it down to come to rest on the back of Aramis' uninjured shoulder. The wounded man stiffened even more but Porthos could see the regret in the blue eyes even if Aramis remained still turned away as he was.

"We're sorry you found out about it like that," Athos said.

"Couldn't sleep," Aramis said to the open air and shifted slightly to slip out from under Athos' touch, "went to check the mail piled up and –" his fingers curled slightly around the weapon, "it couldn't have stayed in the dark for long. I was there after all. A warning beforehand would've been nice but I guess I already knew, had a feeling–" he shrugged his good shoulder, "it's done."

It was not so much the words but the flat tone that pricked at Porthos' concern. His grasp shifted from the weapon to his brother's cold hand. Brown eyes flashed to meet his own and he caught the glimpse of deep cracks in the stony silence that Aramis had built around himself. And just like that his brother seemed brittle, too exposed in the cold winter breeze that ruffled his dark hair and burned his nose pink.

Aramis looked away again.

Pulled his hand out of Porthos' grasp.

"I'll be meeting with Major Edwards for a proper debriefing today," he said.

Porthos wanted to protest, he wanted a way for his friend to avoid this forever even though he knew it was not possible. Aramis will have to relive this disaster to explain his perspective on it; the tightly clenched jaw and the ever deepening shadows under his eyes reminded Porthos that the man had already relived it many times over. His hand curled into an empty fist where Aramis had pulled away from his grasp and Porthos shook his head at the thought of his brother reliving this nightmare many more times to come.

"We'll come with y –"

"You have a job to go to," Aramis cut off Athos' words, "I can handle this."

"We could take the day off, I'm sure the Captain would understand," Athos said.

"No need for that. I'll be fine," Aramis said, "I am fine,"

The blank tone to the words didn't sit well in his gut and Porthos glanced to Athos. Found the same sentiment reflected in the blue gaze studying their friend whose face was still marked with the green-yellow stains of the fading bruise, with an arm in a sling to support the still healing bones.

"You are not fine my friend," Porthos said.

And bit back a sigh at the way Aramis stiffened further, back straightening even though the big man could tell it would only pull at the broken ribs and collarbone on his left side.

"I always am," Aramis said.

The soft declaration stopped Porthos' hand halfway from offering the man a reassuring touch...

... _Athos rolls his eyes and shakes his head even as it's clear that he is trying not to grin. He looks up from where they are collecting the last remains of the confetti that Porthos and Aramis had smuggled out of the art supplies storeroom._

" _You two are worst than Tom," Athos says._

" _Excuse us for being happy to see you," Porthos straightens and turns to Aramis, throws an arm around his shoulders, "next time he runs late we'll let him come find us,"_

" _And hide when he does," Aramis grins back, "I want to hear that squeak – shriek again,"_

" _It was not a squeak,"_

" _More like a chirp," Porthos nods._

" _It was not a sq –"_

" _It sounded mouse-y. Small, furry, whisker nosed," Aramis says._

 _And ducks from under the handful of painfully gathered confetti that Athos throws at him; laughs as he retaliates with his own bag of collected paper shreds and in a matter of seconds they are back where they started._

" _We'll miss dinner tonight," Porthos groans at the colourful mess they are standing in again._

" _You think I could sneak out a broom?" Aramis asks._

 _But if he's caught they'll be in even more trouble than they are for this impromptu welcome of their late arriving third. Porthos has a feeling that they have gotten off light with having to only clean their mess from the driveway because it's their first day back to school, he doesn't want to push their luck. With a shake of his head he thumps Aramis on the back._

" _Let's just get this done," Porthos says._

 _Bends to collect the re-scattered confetti and frowns. His hand feels oddly wet and when he raises his palm up to the driveway light his eyes widen._

" _You alright?" Athos asks, "Porthos?"_

 _His gaze pulls away from his hand to his friends who have moved closer. Athos looks sickened at the red stain on his hand but it is the strange blankness in Aramis' face that frightens Porthos._

" ' _Mis?"_

 _Dark eyes look away._

 _Athos looks from one to the other before he glances behind Aramis. They are lucky there is no one but them around to hear the expletive that falls from his lips._

" _How did this –?" Athos shakes his head, "let's get you to the medical,"_

" _I'm fine,"_

" _Your back – it's bleeding,"_

" _I'm fine Athos," Aramis steps back, "its fine,"_

 _There is a hardness there that Porthos has never seen in the boy before him. He can only stare as their friend turns away; head held high despite the growing red stain on his shirt, one that Porthos knows neither him nor Athos can un-see even when Aramis shrugs on his blazer..._

...His hand clenched into a fist and fell at his side.

It was that one regular gesture on an otherwise regular day that had them accidently stumbling over the threshold into the hell that was their brother's home life. If not for that Porthos realized, Aramis was fine, would have been fine around them. And not for the first time since he had realized what all those brushed aside injuries and lame excuses truly disguised Porthos cursed the man's father from the bottom of his heart, hated him for teaching his friend this vicious art of being fine.

Blue eyes met his.

The hate for that man was mutual.

Athos looked away and Porthos could tell it took an effort for the man to keep his voice light when he spoke next, shifting to lean back against the ledge on Aramis' other side.

"Let's not test this state of fine anymore then shall we?"

Aramis glanced at him.

"Like I said, there is perfectly brewed coffee downstairs awaiting our return," Athos added.

Aramis nodded and swung a leg back over the ledge. He didn't reach for the weapon that had been at his side and Porthos picked it up to tuck it in his belt; waited as Aramis turned fully back towards the roof and onto his feet, not missing the barely there wobble that his friend forced out of his stance.

Back straight, feet firmly planted and face tilted up just a bit into the cold breeze.

There was no hint of the boy in there who would eagerly bundle up to greet winter, no sign of the man who was the first to shiver but the last to back out off snow. Porthos watched as Aramis' gaze swept around them as if in a last survey of the dreary morning before he moved on ahead towards the emergency stairway.

"I hate the smell of cold,"

It was no more than a murmur from Aramis.

But as Porthos looked to Athos he knew the other man had heard it too; could tell that he was not alone in that undeniable feeling of loss those words had stirred. Because in all that SAVOY had claimed, it had irreversibly stolen some of the rare few remnants of their friend's innocence too.

* * *

A shift, a rustle, a snick of the wristwatch and Athos glanced sideways to find his friend checking the time; he had done it thrice already since they've stepped into the elevator. Porthos looked to him, huffed and crossed his arms as he shifted his weight from his toes to his heels; again.

"I just don't like it," he said.

"I can tell,"

"And you don't like it either," Porthos smirked.

Athos looked away as the ding of the elevator announced its stop at their floor and stepping out he paused in the lobby; a sense of wrongness creeping up his spine even if the activity beyond the glass wall beckoned him. He turned to his friend and offered half a shrug.

"You're right I don't," he said, "but Aramis wanted it this way,"

"We could have dropped him off there,"

"We'd have missed work again,"

"Not like I'll be able to concentrate knowing he's going to be facing all those questions he shouldn't have to be thinking about this soon," Porthos wiped a hand down his face and when the dark eyes looked up at Athos they seemed resigned, "it's just – maybe he would want company after that. I thought he might need help after."

An odd ache bloomed in his chest and Athos felt a smile touch his face.

"He'll be –"

"Don't you dare say fine," Porthos groaned.

"–there," Athos finished, "he'll be there."

Because that was the thing about Aramis, he was always there even when their paths had diverged and they hadn't kept in touch and yet Aramis had. Regardless of the frequent silence that Athos knew now was not just from him but Porthos too; even then Aramis had kept reaching out. And after, with their trainings and duties adding to the distance Aramis had been the one with regular phone calls and random messages that had kept the three of them tethered in a way they had never been with the families they were born into.

"He just is isn't he," Porthos grinned.

"And he will be again for us to get back to," Athos tipped his head towards the glass door that he pushed open, "so let's not give the good Captain a reason to keep us here longer that he needs to, shall we?"

"With the way he's been through all this I think he'll send us back sooner than he should," Porthos grinned as he followed him in.

The smell of stale coffee and freshly cleaned carpet mixed with the white noise of conversations and keystrokes and reached out to greet them. The open hall that they had dubbed as the 'yard' still held that distinct hollow ring of an unused space. Treville kept promising that it would be divided into cubicles soon but the truth was that they could do with more people, and Athos breathed deep to once again push aside the reminder that at least one more presence should have been a part of the life in this place by now.

He stopped before his desk even as Porthos veered off to his own. Slipping out of his coat Athos started up his computer just as the phone on his desk rang.

"Athos," he answered it.

"You and Porthos in my office, now,"

He set back the receiver and glanced up at the Captain's office even as he took to his feet; motioned for Porthos to follow and wondered if he had imagined the tense edge in the Captain's typically clipped order. Halfway up the stairs leading to the Captain's office he could see Rochefort sitting in there and bit back a frown.

"Captain?" Porthos knocked on the open door.

Treville waved them inside and nodded towards the thin man sitting in the chair opposite Rochefort.

"Gentlemen this is Detective Inspector Leon, he has some questions for you,"

Furrowed brows and tired eyes turned to them as the Detective Inspector stood and offered them a tight smile.

"You two were the ones who found Marc James,"

"We were sent to him to see if the company could help him," Porthos said, "was he supposed to be missing?"

"There was reason to believe that he was in danger,"

"He didn't seem like he was hiding," Athos said, "he was wary like he would be with his chosen clientele but not overly cautious,"

"It was a hunch I had, but there wasn't enough evidence to pursue," Leon grimaced, "we were too late,"

Athos raised a brow but refrained to point out the obvious; the man was dead, murdered, and if there had been a chance to prevent that he wondered what use it had now to be brought up. He felt Porthos shift at his side and knew his friend was worried about the same, there was something brewing deeper.

"We're still looking for Sam;" Leon said, "his father is helping us track him down. The poor man can't believe that his son would poison his childhood friend."

"But that's not why you're here," said Athos.

Leon raised a brow, nodding more to himself than anything.

"You two were looking for Carrie, Marc's girlfriend," he said.

Rochefort snorted.

"More like taking their pick of the best possibilities to check at their leisure and forcing my team to comb through all the dead ends," he said.

"Yes you already told me that," Leon said, "and you were all looking for her workplace."

"What's this about?" Porthos asked.

"We found her body," Leon said, "Initial reports point towards poisoning,"

The obvious link was hidden from no one in the room and Athos held back the need to rush the Detective Inspector who turned away and grabbed the folder from the Captain's desk. Slipping out a picture he handed it to Porthos.

"This is LeClerc," he said, "Lavoie told us that he is the one heading the ring of jewelry thieves that you had arrested nearly a month ago,"

Athos looked away from the picture of a smirking bald man that his friend held up and glanced towards their Captain.

"We were responsible for the security of that private viewing. Tracking down the stolen jewelry was necessary," he said, "and Lavoie was the one giving orders,"

"That's what we had assumed too but when he found out that you've tracked down Ian Glovere to come forward with the evidence of their previous heists, Lavoie broke his silence," Leon said. "He told us about LeClerc, about how they've all worked together for years and how LeClerc hadn't forgiven Glovere for making a deal with the authorities after that robbery. Said that the man had a score to settle with Glovere,"

Porthos frowned as he studied the picture of the man who was apparently the true culprit they should have gotten arrested.

"You think it was LeClerc who snatched Glovere from our car that day," he said.

"But the stolen goods were not found on Glovere, hence the longer sentence he served even after his confession," Athos said; "that and the lives lost during that theft. So what would this LeClerc want from him then?"

"Lavoie wouldn't say," Leon put the folder on the chair at his side and leaned against its armrest, "Out of loyalty or fear I couldn't decide until he somehow got the hint of Glovere being taken. And he wouldn't say another word on the matter. He was scared though, that much I could see then."

"We could try talking to him," Porthos offered.

"He's dead," Leon sighed, "poisoned,"

"And you think that its LeClerc's doing," Athos said.

He didn't like where this was going.

"I did when I found out that his old crew members were turning up dead around the same time you reported Glovere being taken," Leon nodded towards the folder, "Marc, Carrie, Lavoie and Nina all were a part of that heist and all of them are dead now, poisoned within these past weeks."

Four people were dead. Four people were murdered because Porthos and he may have unintentionally dug up some old trouble best left buried. Athos swallowed lightly to ease the sick feeling in his gut.

"And how can we help?" he asked.

"I need all the information you have relevant to the three you were concerned with," Leon said, "especially anything that you have about Glovere. He's the catalyst here and we may be able to save him yet."

"You can only hope," Rochefort said, head shaking even as he scowled, "there's no trace, no clue and no phone calls from whoever took him,"

Athos looked from the man to their Captain and suddenly he understood why exactly Rochefort was there; it wasn't just that Team Two was helping them with finding that half scrawled address Marc had given them. Irritation swirled with guilt and left him awash with an aimless anger that had become very familiar to him these past weeks. Athos took in a measured breath and let it go slowly, tried his best to overlook the smug gleam that shone in Rochefort's eyes that met his.

"That's right _cousin_ ," the man spat out the title like it tasted foul, "my team had been picking up your slack. We have been monitoring all your cases while you and your friend had been too busy playing nurse for that arrogant little s–"

"That's enough Rochefort," Treville cut in, "we only need to know the information you have about these cases,"

Athos saw the way his cousin's jaw clenched, saw the way his eyes narrowed and for a moment he wondered if Rochefort would back down. A part of him wished that he would not, the part of him that had been collecting his rage against a faceless foe ever since they had found Aramis in the hospital wanted this man to bait him, hungered for an excuse to let out the ire that simmered with the pain of all that they had lost in SAVOY.

Rochefort blinked; shifted in his seat and looked away.

A warm grip wrapped around his arm and Athos looked to Porthos who had stepped up to his side. There was understanding in the dark eyes even if the smile held a hint of apology. Athos glanced down to where his friend held onto him from just above the elbow and it was only then he noticed his own hand having clenched into a fist, realized his other hovered over where his weapon would have been at his belt had they been out on an assignment.

Athos nodded and Porthos let go.

Neither of them missed the way Rochefort wouldn't look at their faces and Athos caught his friend smirk at the sight.

"Right," Leon broke the silence, "so you are the one keeping track of any demands that could be made to Glovere's relatives?"

"There's only his brother at the nursing home," Rochefort said, "he kept complaining about his missing snow-globes whenever any of us went down to see him. The ex-wife had remarried years ago so I don't think Glovere will be giving her number to anyone who'd seek to make demands for his release."

"That's it?"

"After prison he worked as a gardener," Porthos said, "when we were trying to reach him there was an entire list of small residential jobs he had went through, picking up most of them irregularly and never staying long in one area."

"We had to cut down to the places he frequented," Athos nodded, "and even then his employers were eager to point out that he kept mostly to himself and never offered information that wasn't asked."

"He was hiding," Leon said.

"Precisely," Athos nodded towards the picture Porthos had dropped onto the folder, "but he never mentioned LeClerc. It was Lavoie that had, according to him, forced him into a wandering existence."

"Still, I will need any and all information you have about that initial robbery Lavoie was imprisoned for. Anything that you remember but didn't think was important enough to report the first time around or anything else that you might remember now," Leon said, "If Lavoie was right and that was LeClerc's doing then there may be a clue in there as to the man's whereabouts."

"And if we find him we may find Glovere too," said Porthos.

Leon nodded, "Let's hope this one is found alive," he said.

Athos hopped so as well but as he watched the Detective Inspector leave and followed Porthos back to their desks he couldn't ignore the hollowed feeling that had taken up residence somewhere in his chest. With the way their lives were going he could almost see themselves facing another dead end. So many people were murdered and here they were going through their old reports and wishing they could jog their memories towards any clue as to the murderer. Too little too late, his mind supplied.

A soft thump broke into his thoughts and he looked down at the steaming cup of coffee placed on his desk.

Porthos set his own cup down as well and settled into the visiting chair with the binder full of hardcopies of their previous reports. Athos logged into his computer as his friend flipped through the pages before the dark eyes glanced towards him again. There was concern there but it was buried under the clear indication that his friend knew, that he understood just what it was that Athos hadn't voiced yet.

Blue eyes looked away; across the moving people and immobile furniture the stretch of broad windows had misted over slightly. But Athos could tell that the snow that had started falling during their breakfast was still going strong.

"We'll find him," Porthos said.

"Glovere could be dead by now,"

"Then we'll get him justice,"

Athos looked away again.

Useless, senseless, aimless; his hand on the desk curled into a fist as Aramis' face from that morning flashed before his eyes.

"I sent him a text," Porthos said, "told him to call either one of us as soon as he gets done,"

Athos nodded and forced himself to pull in a calming breath; he didn't need to ask who the big man was talking about. He sat back, drank his coffee before setting the mug back, finger tapping on its side as his gaze flicked to corner of his computer screen. It was nearing noon; Aramis wouldn't be free this early. He will be facing questions and giving answers when those responsible for his suffering were somewhere out there, roaming free.

"It's just not –" he shook his head.

– not fair, not enough, not right –

"It isn't," Porthos said.

Putting the open binder on the desk he sat forwards.

"And not that I mind a bloody nose for Rochefort," he added, "but try not to go for it in front of the Captain eh?"

A smile tipped up on his face and Athos took a sip of his coffee. Raising a brow he nodded towards the pages his friend was browsing through.

"And what has you annoyed?" he asked.

"Picked up on that did you?"

Athos smirked.

"I'm just wondering why Glovere never mentioned LeClerc," Porthos reached for his coffee and sat back, tapped their report on the jewelry heist with his free hand, "or the others for that matter. He never mentioned anyone else from the group he had taken the fall for."

It had crossed his mind too, Athos clearly remembered Glovere studying their observations about the jewelry theft and pointing out Lavoie as the one responsible. He retraced their steps in his mind back to their informant who had directed them to Glovere in the first place.

"Tim said that Glovere was the one we needed because he is well connected in stolen jewels market," he said, "and Leon said that apparently Glovere, LeClerc and Lavoie had worked together for a long time,"

"So why did he identify Lavoie instead of LeClerc," Porthos smirked, "was it an innocent misjudgment or did Glovere want us to go after Lavoie?"

"But according to Lavoie, LeClerc and Glovere are at odds. And he didn't give up LeClerc as the one behind the heist we caught him for until he found out about Glovere's disappearance," Athos sipped his coffee and turning to his computed he pulled up the report they had filed about tracking down Glovere, "something isn't right about this,"

He glanced at the watch on the corner of the screen again.

Almost noon it announced and he tried to calculate if Aramis would be done with the debriefing by now, wondered if he would be alright after all that questioning and tried not to think about how farther back into his own mind would this session have pushed their friend. And how were they supposed coax him out of there? It was Aramis who pulled and pushed and shoved and cajoled until him and Porthos were grounded back into their lives, it had never been the other way round. Try as he might there was no point of reference in his mind as to how they could help Aramis deal with this tragedy.

Athos blinked.

"Deal," he said, "Glovere had a deal drawn upon agreeing to come forward as a witness for us. And he made a deal the last time too; through the same lawyer."

Porthos nodded as he flipped through the pages of the binder, "I remember the man, Mr. Kenneth; his contact information is in here somewhere. You think he knows something?" the big man stopped his search and looked up with a frown, "and why would he tell us if he does?"

"Maybe not about the first one but our company had a part in getting the new deal drawn," Athos said, "There might be some clue in there as to what Glovere wanted. It could give us an idea of his thoughts,"

"You're thinking that he left out LeClerc deliberately," Porthos glanced at him.

Athos shrugged a shoulder.

"There is no harm in us looking into it if Mr. Kenneth would let us," he said, "And Leon can look into the older deal Glovere signed up for."

"I don't think Leon will like us interfering,"

"Helping," Athos corrected him, a smirk pulling at his lips, "I'll talk to Leon. Glovere was under our protection, we owe him this."

He didn't have to add that he needed this. That they needed this tied up when everything else in their lives was splitting into loose ends. Porthos got up with a nod and took the binder with him to search for the lawyer's number. Athos went through their findings concerning their recent assignments and emailed them to Leon before he called the Detective Inspector. It didn't take him long to explain their working theory to the man but it took him over and hour to convince him to let them help. By the time he ended the call Athos couldn't help but smile at the small victory.

His gaze shifted to the time displayed on his mobile phone's screen and lingered there. With a slight shake of his head Athos called the number he had wanted to call ever since the two of them had parted ways with Aramis outside his building...

... _Her slim hand slips into his and he looks away from the phone; fingers that she hadn't grabbed hovering over the numbers._

" _What are you up to?" she smiles._

" _Calling back a friend," he brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss on her knuckles, "I was in class when he –"_

" _Aramis?" she asks._

 _And he raises a brow, something prickling in his mind at the snip in her voice. He didn't expect that, he didn't want that._

" _He calls you more often than your brother," she shrugs, "not that hard to guess,"_

 _He watches her._

" _You don't like it,"_

 _She bites her lip and looks away before the blue-green eyes turn to him in wide earnestness._

" _I just – you won't like this I know but," she blows out a breath, "shouldn't he learn to live his life and let you live yours?"_

" _He's one of my best friends,"_

" _But why phone you every week like you're a child he needs to keep in check," she pouts and shakes her head before she pulls away, "and now you'll hate me for saying that. I should just let you talk to him and –"_

 _He reaches out to grab her hand and pulls her to him; turns away from the phone._

" _How about I talk to him later?" he smiles..._

...The dial tone in his ear cut off with a beep for him to leave a message. Athos ended the call and sat back, stared at the mobile phone still in his grasp. He hadn't called Aramis that day, or that week and when his friend had phoned him the next weekend he had hardly gotten past a hello before Anne had gleefully plucked the receiver from his fingers and told his friend to call sometimes later...

... _He thinks he will break the receiver he is gripping it so hard._

" _Are you accusing her of lying to me?"_

" _Forgetting that someone phoned you once or twice is possible but seven times Athos? How did she forget telling you I called you seven times?"_

" _Stop exaggerating 'Mis. It was three times,"_

 _There is silence on the other end; heavy and dry. As if his friend is holding in a breath._

" _Fine, whatever she says I won't argue with that." Aramis says, "Just tell me did you talk to Porthos?"_

 _And it irks him that he had not, for ages it seems._

" _He isn't answering my calls and the last email I received from him –"_

 _He could have emailed him too, could have sent him a short message just to drop a hello. How long had it been since he had heard his other best friend's voice, even in writing? He glances at Anne waiting for him and shoves back this neediness. They aren't children anymore; they don't need to hold each other's hands._

"... _and I don't think you've listened to a word I've said," Aramis' voice cuts in._

" _Did it ever cross your mind that he may not have wanted to talk to you at that moment?" he asks, "or that he may be busy? That I could be too?"_

 _His eyes widen as the words leave him._

 _The silence stretches between them. An apology forms in his mind but doesn't move past his lips. His own words echo in his mind and he clears his throats._

" _You're right Athos. I'm sorry I bothered you,"_

 _The line goes dead..._

...His thumb swiped over the screen of his mobile phone and he wondered how his friend had forgiven him without that apology ever being voiced; because Aramis had simply stepped up and at his side to hold together his world when Anne had torn it apart. There had been no chance for them to address the fact that they hadn't really talked much since that phone call and Athos found himself thinking again if it was only Aramis keeping his silence in his anger or if his wife at that time had something to do with it...

... _the ringing wakes him up._

 _It takes him long minutes to understand that he is on the sofa where they had camped out for movie night. Anne shifts slightly where she is curled into his side and he levels a sleepy glare at the phone. It stops ringing as the two of them fully awaken._

" _Hey Athos," Aramis' voice filters out of the answering machine._

 _He doesn't miss the exhaustion he hears._

" _The same message again in case the last two messages missed you." Aramis says, "Call me,"_

 _There is a pause and his heart clenches slightly at the defeat lingering at the edges of that tone. He glances at Anne, wonders what these last two messages are that Aramis is talking about because he doesn't remember getting them._

" _It's about Porthos," Aramis says..._

...he had called him back the next morning.

But he could never get over the fact that it was too late by then. Pulling in a steadying breath Athos texted his friend instead and told him that he was just checking in, refrained from letting on the worry that was packed tight in his chest. Taking in a mouthful of the coffee he grimaced at the cooled liquid and got up to search for a refill.

Porthos waved him to a stop.

The big man ended the call he had been on and sat back with a grin.

"Mr. Kenneth agreed to see us at oh-three hundred today. Some appointment of his fell through because of the snow apparently so we have that slot," he said.

Athos nodded and grabbed Porthos' empty mug as well.

"I'll clear it with the Captain," he said.

"We'll leave early," Porthos tipped his head towards the windows that still showed the snow falling, "it'll take longer in that to get to his office and we could grab something to eat on the way."

Finally things were moving along like he wanted them to, Athos smiled.

* * *

The woman with the knit cap walked five steps behind him; the man in the suede coat crossed the road from his right, talking on his phone – no listening to music. The woman moved by his shoulder and walked past as a bicycle rolled closer and by him. Smell of stale coffee, wet tires and his own slightly damp jacket. Aramis tried to pull away from it all, forced his mind to let go of the present it held onto so tightly. Easing his clenched senses he slowed his steps, reminded himself that he had walked this same path hundreds of times and had never faced any danger in years on it.

Like a rubber-band being released his mind sped back to that morning. The pictures had been the worst; a patchwork of black, red and white that wouldn't erase from the underside of his eyelids even as he blinked to clear it away.

Do you recognize them?

No.

Do you remember them?

No.

Did you kill them?

Probably; some of them at least.

Your weapon was stained with blood.

He remembered firing off some shots too.

You weren't allowed firearms they had reminded him.

But it had been there in his hand, a familiar weight, an easy grip. He must have picked it off from one of their attackers they had told him.

What about Marsac, did he know them?

"No," it left him is a whisper.

Aramis swallowed hard and shook his head slightly.

"No," he said – had said –"No," he repeated.

Letting go a breath he blinked to clear his vision and realized he was standing on the sidewalk. And by the way the snowflakes clung to his face, gathered on his shoulders and shoes and added to the already thick layers of white around him it was clear he had been for some time. His grasp tightening on the folder he clutched to his chest with the arm that was in a sling, Aramis hurried up the stairs to the main door of his building.

The warm gust tingled on his skin as his eyes adjusted to the light inside...

" _No! No! Aramis!" Marsac screams somewhere beyond his direct line of sight, his voice cut off with a grunt of pain._

" _Leave him alone," he snarls._

 _Hears it echo back in Marsac's voice too..._

...His heart thumped against his rib cage and Aramis swallowed the gasp that threatened to escape past his lips. He straightened as the door to his left opened, his free hand going for the firearm that wasn't there in his belt. Faded grey eyes caught his gaze and recognition snapped through the cloying fear. It took him a minute to return Mrs. Colby's beaming smile and he excused himself before the concern could fully settle on the kind old lady's face.

It was only when he was inside his flat with the door firmly locked behind him that his racing heart slowed down. Moving carefully through the darkness he scanned his home for any intruders, head tilted slightly to sift through the motionless silence around him even as he made his way to his room. Whoever had attacked them was still out there even if his superiors couldn't find rhyme or reason for the tragedy that had claimed twenty lives.

Aramis moved to switch on the lamp at his bedside table and felt something slip from the folder in his grasp. As light filled his room Aramis retrieved the tags that were as familiar to him as his own. With his fingers looping in the green chord that had been cut he couldn't look away from the dull gleam of the small disks...

... _pain explodes in his flesh, his breath burns his insides and his face presses into the cold. There is a taste of blood in his mouth and there is something bright green falling to the snow..._

...the 'W.M' on the round silver tags held between his fingers swam into his view and Aramis sat in the chair by his desk. Swiping his uninjured hand down his face he tried to untangle his thoughts from the fierce grasp of his heart, that insisted that Marsac had been taken by those who had attacked them, that his friend had obviously not deserted like his superiors were implying.

Because he knows Marsac, he knows his friend would never orchestrate a massacre, never be a part of it unless he sought to prevent it. Getting back to his feet Aramis placed the tags and the folder in the drawer of his bedside table, his fingers hovering over the letters marking the brown cover, SAVOY it read. Another hell that he had survived but there were twenty lives buried under that name and he would find out why. His fingers curled into a fist as he pushed the drawer close, back straightening as he shoved the fear and the horror back into his mind and tapped into the control he had learned to keep very early in life...

... _a snap at his back and the fire there reignites._

 _The tears are warm on his face but he refuses to make a sound, thinks of Athos and Porthos and shuts out the next lick of leather._

" _Waste of time these sentiments boy," his father says, "when will you learn that?"_

 _Something trickles down his back with the next blow._

" _Useless, worthless," the man growls, "should just throw you out and be done with it,"_

 _Then why don't you he wants to ask..._

...but he never had.

And over time it had made sense to him; that the man was trying to shape him after himself, after his grandfather and his father before him. He was the heir to carry on that legacy. Aramis smiled; a sharp smug pull at his lips as he reasserted his hold on his mind.

He was not his father's son.

He was Aramis.

He was broken, he was hurt.

Had been before and would be again.

But he refused to fall apart.

Stepping away from his bedside table he rubbed at the ache in his neck and glanced out the window. The darkness outside was clear, no more white flakes scattered in the air. Moving to pick up a change of clothes he headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. The hot water dragged the aches from his body down the drain and fogged up his mind just enough to let him press his forehead to the tiles and breathe a little easier. Allowed him to move in a haze of exhaustion that was edged with the pain waiting to reach him again; waiting at least until he had stepped out and gotten dressed.

By the time he had strapped the sling into place again his shoulder was throbbing enough to make his stomach clench. Leaning against the doorjamb of his room he closed his eyes and willed the sandwich he had had earlier to not make a reappearance; his still healing ribs were not yet ready for that. Pushing away from the support he grabbed the bottle of over-the-counter pain meds that his doctor hadn't been happy about and made his way out again in search of some water.

The door to the room across from his was closed, as was the one next to his room...

..." _Shouldn't your friends be here?"_

 _He doesn't glance over his shoulder at Lemay, doesn't answer the question that is the same that the man had asked him during the small service at this very spot some days ago._

" _You still haven't told them," it's not a question._

" _Porthos was concussed when I did," he shrugs, "Athos' mostly passed out when we meet,"_

" _Mrs. Du Vallon –"_

" _She sees them less than me these days," he says._

 _Stands up from the crouch he doesn't remember settling in; staggers a little but finds his footing in the soft ground._

 _Wordlessly he takes the cereal bar his friend hands him and bites into it; it has no taste. But he needs the energy, is thankful for it after having spent the breaks in his morning trying to get Isabelle to talk to him and getting Porthos back to his Mom's after the latest brawl. _He bites his split lip, torn knuckles stretching as his free hand clenches into a fist. It was Porthos mentioning the baby in the morning that had left him here at this hour.__

 _He takes his bag from Lemay when he picks it up off the ground and tries not to think about the divorce papers that Isabelle's father had handed him this morning._

 _The ringing of his phone rescues his mind._

" _Aramis," he answers it._

" _Ben here,"_

 _And he knows that he has to go collect Athos now. He's just glad that it's his turn for the continuous twenty-four hours break from rotations._

" _On my way," he ends the call._

 _He thanks Lemay more with the way he grasps his friend by the shoulder than the words he uses. And with one final glance at his son's headstone Aramis walks away..._

...It was neither of those closed doors that he found himself standing before. It was the one next to the room that Porthos usually used when he stayed over, the fourth bedroom in his flat that he had locked years ago and hadn't had the courage to re-visit still. In that one lay a testimony of his too short marriage and the fatherhood he never really got.

Aramis stumbled back slightly, his thoughts racing in tandem with his quickening heartbeat.

Could it be? Could this be his father's work?

He wouldn't be surprised if his father had once again destroyed the lives around him. The man wrecked whatever world that his son had managed to build for himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose Aramis pulled in a steady breath, reasoned that if it was his father's doing then the man would have surely called to gloat. He had every other time.

With a shake of his head he pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket, eyes widening slightly at the missed calls and text messages. A soft smile touched his face as he read the quick short messages; it was the worry that he could read behind those words that soothed an odd fear Marsac's disappearance had stirred in him. It silenced the little voice that had murmured at the back of his mind ever since it was questioned if Marsac had simply left him for the dead.

He read the messages again, his hold tightening on the mobile phone as he reminded himself that he was not alone. Yet, that voice in his head reminded him, he was not alone yet.

"I'm fine," he told himself; and apparently he was scaring his friends he realized going through the messages again.

Heading to the kitchen Aramis called Senor Alvaro first, the man who managed his inheritance from his mother may not be in touch with his father but he would know if there was something to know. He wasn't surprised by the warm reception on that end.

"But what did he do mi amigo? Did he hurt you again?"

Perching on one of the chairs at the kitchen island Aramis shook his head.

"I'm fine but something happened and I'm not sure if it is his work," he said, "all I know is that if it is, then there will be rumors,"

And that would have to be enough because his father would never leave a thread that could reach back to him. But he would know, at least he would finally be able to put a face to the enemy that had so viciously made itself known. The weight on his chest lessened a bit as Senor Alvaro assured him that he would ask around in the right circles. Thanking the man Aramis ended the call and sent a text to his friends, asking them over for dinner.

He had just swallowed the pills when his mobile phone buzzed and setting down the glass he scrolled through the text messages. His brows rising at the various ways his friend was simply asking if he was alright, he had never known that Porthos could type that fast. The corners of his lips twitched up as another message appeared.

'Waiting for Mr. Kenneth at his law firm,' Athos wrote, 'we missed our appointment because someone insisted on going to his favorite take-out'

'Someone was hungry and it's the best serving size there is,' Porthos messaged him.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

'My car reeks of that sauce,' Athos wrote to him, 'I'll have to burn the upholstery,'

'I'll bring the fuel you get the matches Aramis,' Porthos' text followed.

'How about I get dinner?' Aramis wrote back.

'Congratulations, the receptionist heard Porthos' stomach rumble,' Athos' message appeared in the next breath.

'You're not cooking,' Porthos followed at its heels.

'I'm sure he had heard of this novel idea of ordering-in,' Athos messaged.

He could clearly see Athos' eye roll, could hear the worry in Porthos' voice. He could picture the scowls and the smirks shared between his two best friends. And he missed them. Blinking to clear the sudden mist in his eyes he read the next text.

'You will not be making dinner with that shoulder,' Athos had written.

He really missed them.

"I won't,' he answered.

"Good. We'll see you in an hour, two at most,' Porthos texted him.

Staring at the lit screen in his hand Aramis made his decision. A quick search of Mr. Kenneth's law firm brought up the address and he headed out. He paused once he was outside his flat, his good hand closing and opening into a fist at his side a few times. He couldn't decide what was worse, the hyper awareness that made the world appear too sharp and blurred at the same time or the random manner he slipped back into that frozen forest.

"I'm fine," he said out loud.

One step after the other; that had always been the most effective strategy whether he was making his way out of his room after his father's temper had calmed or walking away from the life that had turned to nothing before it could fully start. Stepping out onto the sidewalk again he was relieved to find the area mostly deserted. The cold and snow had thinned out the crowds he would usually have to face on the route he took. His charged senses flooded out but held steady.

Still he was glad when he found himself alone in the elevator taking him up to the floor that Mr. Kenneth's law firm was on.

The limited empty space settled him in a way it never had before and pulling in a measured breath Aramis let it out slowly. Held onto that calm as the elevator doors rolled open. Squinting slightly at the dimmed lights of the lobby he spotted the front desk to his left and held back a wince at the sight of three men already there. But it was the way the receptionist's eyes kept darting towards the rows of desks, almost all of which were not manned, that slowed his steps. Beyond her desk, two men sat in the waiting area and Aramis slowed further.

A young woman in deep grey suit clicked her bag shut at one of the desks as the man two desks across from her said something; they laughed.

"...I just told you that Mr. Kenneth is busy," the receptionist said and Aramis frowned, there was something in her voice, "if you would please wait –"

One of the men leaned closer.

The woman in the grey suit approached the front desk, her smile turning confused.

"Sally I was just –" she began but stepped back.

Her gasp was loud in his ears and Aramis hurried forward.

He was not surprised to find the five men in the lobby to be armed.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite, follow or review this story. Next chapter will not be posted quickly but I will [hopefully] not take as long as I did before.**


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